The Wolves of Winterfell
by Assa-h
Summary: "He foreswore himself, shamed an ally, betrayed a solemn promise. Where is the honor in that?" "He chose the girl's honor over his own. " But what happens if Robb decided otherwise?
1. Gifts

**Disclamer:** This world belongs to George R. R. Martin. I don't own anything.

 **Author's note:** Sorry for any grammar or vocabulary mistake.

* * *

 _"Stupid blind little wolf bitch." His voice was rough and hard as an iron rasp. "Bugger Joffrey, bugger the queen, and bugger that twisted little gargoyle she calls a brother. I'm done with their city, done with their Kingsguard, done with Lannisters. What's a dog to do with lions, I ask you?" He reached for his waterskin, took a long pull. As he wiped his mouth, he offered the skin to Arya and said, "The river was the Trident, girl. The Trident, not the Blackwater. Make the map in your head, if you can. On the morrow we should reach the kingsroad. We'll make good time after that, straight up to the Twins. It's going to be me who hands you over to that mother of yours. Not the noble lightning lord or that flaming fraud of a priest, the monster." He grinned at the look on her face. "You think your outlaw friends are the only ones can smell a ransom? Dondarrion took my gold, so I took you. You're worth twice what they stole from me, I'd say. Maybe even more if I sold you back to the Lannisters like you fear, but I won't. Even a dog gets tired of being kicked. If this Young Wolf has the wits the gods gave a toad, he'll make me a lordling and beg me to enter his service._

 _/Storm of Swords/_

* * *

 **I. Gifts**

When the wagon arrived at the courtyard of the castle, nobody paid any interest to them. Most of the people in there were too drunk to take care about two ragged peasants. They didn't ask them what they wanted or what kind of gift they brought. They didn't even look at them.

The Hound got off the wagon, grumbling. Arya briskly jumped after him.

The cacophony was unbearable. If musicians had only played at one of the Twins, the music, perhaps, would have been somewhat enjoyable. But they could also hear drums, copper bugles and horns from the other side of the river playing to a much different rhythm than the one coming from this tower. The tunes joined in a monstrous clamor.

Between the castles the Green Fork darkly rumbled in the night. The courtyard was soaked by rain, and Arya's hood was heavy from wetness. By every step her boots sank deeply in the mud and threatened to get stuck in it.

The watchman by the gate, who instructed them, said they had missed the wedding, but the feast was still going on and surely, they could get some food and a cup of wine in the kitchen. He also explained to them willingly how they could get there with their cargo (salt pork and pickled pig's feet). The Hound, of course, didn't have any intention to go to the kitchen.

"Your brother is fucking his new wife," he said, grabbing Arya's shoulder and directing her to the castle's entrance. "But your mother might still be in Lord Frey's hall."

Dizzily, Arya nodded. The whole thing felt like a fever dream. Accompanied by the Hound she hurried along torch-lighted corridors, stepped aside to stone walls and casted down her eyes every time drunken and singing men crossed their way. After some curve, the clatter of the instruments faded as the musicians began to play a new song. Arya could hear the singing of a bard, but only for a moment before others joined him, shouting off-key. After another turn, pounding of dancing boots mingled in the noise.

A voice roared. "To the Young Wolf! And to Lady Roslin!"

It seemed like the answer came from hundreds of throats. "Long live Queen Roslin!"

Arya was excited and scared at the same time. She didn't believe – didn't dare to believe – that she would see her mother soon; that Lady Catelyn was going to sit by one of the tables and she could run to her, embrace and kiss her. She didn't believe it until they entered the door of the great hall. But then, when a few soldiers stopped them, that didn't surprise her at all. At the end someone always came and diverted her from her purpose.

"Who are you?" One of them demanded. He was tall, shaggy and bearded – a northern man, almost sure. Arya, however, didn't know who he was and which house he belonged to.

"I brought a gift to Lady Stark," the Hound said.

He was snarling, Arya knew from his voice. His hand still squeezed her shoulder. The Hound didn't release her until he was forced to when someone pulled his hood off. It was so unexpected that Arya – now free – almost fell forward.

The Hound instinctively reached for his sword, but they left their weapons – Needle included – outside, hidden in the wagon.

"A gift, eh?"

This man Arya recognized, but she couldn't remember his name. He was a member of the guard from Winterfell.

"Your ugly head, Clegane? Because our Lady would appreciate that!"

In the front of the hall folks must have realized that something was happening at the door. The music fell silent. Arya and the Hound were pushed forward.

From the high-backed chair, which stood on the stage, a bold, old man stared at them with his soggy eyes. Arya, however, couldn't study him for long, because the soldiers stopped them with faces towards another table.

And by that table… Suddenly, Arya felt as if the stone floor of the hall had disappeared under her feet. A woman sat there, a woman with auburn hair. She was far more beautiful than she was in Arya's memories. And her glance when she looked at them was as cold as never before. Not even when she had looked at Jon Snow.

When she spoke up, though, dismay clouded her voice.

"What is this supposed to mean?"

"The Lannisters' Hound says he brought you a gift."

Lady Catelyn stood up.

"A gift?"

She was suspicious now. Arya knew she feared a trap.

The Hound swooped on her. He shoved her in front of himself and – with the same motion – pulled her hood down. But this time he didn't let her go. He continued gripping Arya's cloak by her nape.

It was just a moment. And still it was an eternity. Arya was afraid that her mother wasn't going to recognize her.

Then the moment passed and Lady Catelyn sank down into her chair and her mouth opened in a mute scream.

* * *

Robb made a wise decision when he chose he was going to march against Moat Cailin.

"I won't let people call me The King Who Lost The North," he said and Catelyn was glad for it. Not only because it was the kind of plan she could support wholeheartedly, but also because the newfangled melancholy that ruled over Robb since his arrival from the Westerlands was finally gone. Even if only for a short time.

This sorrow was more than grief for his little brothers. Catelyn tried to gouge out of him what had happened in the West. Although Robb forgave her – at least apparently –, their relationship were strained since the release of Jaime Lannister. At one night when they stayed alone after a weary council, he was willing to disclose this much:

"I was tested."

"And did you fail?"

Robb remained silent, for a long time.

"I don't know, mother," he said then.

After that, he avoided any other talking with her, especially in this subject.

So Catelyn was worried. Even after Robb told his bannermen the plan of his northern campaign. Although the knowledge that his son had a purpose, at least, made her feel slightly relieved.

It was a wise idea, too, that on the way to the North, if they had to across the Green Fork, anyway, they should get round to the wedding with Lord Frey's daughter. According to Robb, it was necessary because who knows when they would have another opportunity for it. But contracts must be upheld and a King can't remain without an heir. Catelyn accepted his arguments because all of them were valid, but at the same time she suspected that the haste had something to do with Robb's mysterious test. She didn't ask again, though, because she knew it would be a useless effort.

His son made some less wise decisions, too. Rickard Karstark's beheading was one of them. Although Catelyn understood why Robb felt like he had no choice.

But that other… _foolishness_. Robb was stubborn and he once again said that he didn't have any other choice. But he did, Catelyn was sure of it. He had many other choices and all of them would have been better than this one. But it was done and they could do nothing to change it. Robb's messengers had already gone to the North, to the Wall for Jon Sn– Stark.

If the bast– boy had honor, he would thank Robb but keep his oath to the Watch. At least, Catelyn thought so, however, she didn't hope for it. Jon Snow's greatest desire had always been to become a Stark and take Winterfell. And now both of them were offered to him. In fact, a crown and a kingdom was offered to him in the case of Robb's death.

It was far more than foolishness.

She didn't agree with the person Robb chose as his betrothed. Though what she gathered about the girl since she had arrived at the Twins, made her more trusting. Roslin Frey was very pretty, undeniably so. Lord Walder was farseeing enough to only introduce his truly good-looking daughters to the King. But that one was also too small and too thin. On the other hand, according to Maester Brenett, her mother had given birth to five children who were strong enough to stay alive and grow up.

If the Gods were merciful, Roslin would soon bear a son to Robb, as well. A real heir. And then… the current one will have to be set aside in some way. Of course, that would be more difficult than it would have been if he hadn't become an heir at all. But Catelyn didn't want to deal with that now.

She would have been glad, if she could have left the feast instead of listening how the Greatjon bellowed over Lord Walder's unlucky bard, or how Lady Bolton was snickering with her cousins. But it would have been too early to retire to her room. Lord Walder, as whimsical as he was, would consider it an insult. Not as if he had any reason to complain. He had betrothed his daughter with the Lord of Winterfell, but he gave her in marriage with the King in the North, just a few hours ago. Though the original contract had already been far more than what a man like him could have hoped for.

Lord Bolton sat on Catelyn's right. She didn't even know since when. He was a silent company, fortunately, especially, because he was the last person out of all the guests to whom she would talk with pleasure.

Lord Bolton and the army he brought with himself when he had left Harrenhal for Robb's calling were waiting for them miles before the Twins. Catelyn didn't find that odd, at first. In fact, she didn't even wonder why the Lord of Dreadfort wasted his time on the road if he could have found comfortable bed, great feast and a devoted, willing wife not further than a few hours of riding.

Robb did ask him, of course. He and his men were also exhausted from travelling, although they didn't set such forced pace as Lord Bolton had to make to overtake them.

"I have a gift to you, Your Grace," Bolton said. "Lord Edmure, as I heard, estimated its worth to be one thousand golden dragons.

' _No!_ ' Catelyn wanted to scream. But instead she stood frozen beside his son clutching her horse's reins, meanwhile Lord Bolton's men led the Kingslayer and Brienne of Tarth to them, both of them tied up.

She had believed in Brienne. She had believed the Lady knight would perform the task she had entrusted her with. And still, the Kingslayer stood here, before them, and all hope was lost for getting Sansa back.

"Ser Cleos?" Robb obviously figured out what happened, but from sense of duty he had to ask.

"He died. At the beginning of our trip," the girl said.

After that, Robb gestured to Jaime Lannister with his chin. "What happened to his hand?"

Catelyn hadn't realized until Robb mentioned it. The Kingslayer's right arm ended in a stump just above his wrist.

Lannister smiled – or at least he tried. But that impertinence and pride, which blazed in him when he had talked to Catelyn in the gloom of his cell, only glimmered now. Although it didn't extinguish entirely.

"That was towards the end of our trip."

"The Gods, regrettably, led him into the way of an essosi goat who didn't hear enough warning about Tywin Lannister," Lord Bolton added.

He said it as an explanation, perhaps, but for that it wasn't much and Catelyn didn't care, anyway.

"However, the same goat brought me to Lord Bolton," the Kingslayer said. "So, Your Grace, my Lady, you should be grateful to him."

Robb ignored him as if the Kingslayer hadn't opened his mouth.

"I am sure my uncle will be quick to reward you, my Lord. And I as well will find a way to thank you. You made a great service to me and my Lady mother.

To her he didn't, Catelyn thought.

If Lord Bolton and his goat – and who knows how many others on the road – hadn't existed, Jaime Lannister would have reached King's Landing, and then maybe… She sighed. It was time to admit she had been silly. Yes, the Imp as Hand had made a promise, but would he have kept it? Would he _have been allowed_ to keep what he had vowed? By the boy King, the Queen, Lord Tywin? Would they have allowed it? Sansa was too valuable. The only living, trueborn sibling of Robb.

It was time to admit to that, too. It didn't matter how much it pained her.

And, lastly, it was time to admit that Robb was right when he didn't name his younger sister as his heiress. Her understanding, however, only allowed as much.

Musicians began to play a new song. It was slower than the previous ones, with a lot more drumming and singing. First, the Greatjon joined the bard, then a few others as well. One voice was just as bad as the other and every one of them knew a different version of the lyrics – or none at all.

Maybe the musicians were tired, too, but it didn't matter. They had to play until there was a person left wanting to celebrate – and for now it seemed a lot of people wanted to.

Not far from Catelyn Marq Piper swung his cup high spattering expensive, dornish wine onto himself and those who were sitting around him.

"To the Young Wolf!" he shouted, as people had done many times in that night. "And to Lady Roslin!"

In response, the choir of the Freys blustered. "Long live Queen Roslin!"

Catelyn took a sip of her wine, just a tiny one to wet her tongue. Lord Bolton, at her side, did the same. Catelyn wished he walked away, if only to look up on his own wife. Just like Robb, the Lord of Dreadfort should have been urgent to see an heir.

She was sure Robb wasn't going to leave the Bastard of Bolton alive. It didn't matter what – dubious – service he had done to their family. In fact, that question, his bastard son's life or death, wasn't much of an interest to Lord Bolton either.

In the back of the hall some sort of tumult flared up. Catelyn thought it was a scrum between drunks or another hassle usual at these kinds of events.

But then two beggars were pushed forward by soldiers. In front of _her_ but back to Lord Walder. The short one could have been some peasant boy. Catelyn didn't spare more than a split second of attention on him.

How could she, when the _other one_ was there? Sandor Clegane, Joffrey Baratheon's Hound. Did he come to kill Robb? No, he wouldn't do it in such a foolish way.

"What is that supposed to mean?"

"The Lannisters' Hound says he brought you a gift."

Catelyn stood up to look more dignified, more so, because the King couldn't be here. She tried to act on behalf of him to the best of her abilities.

"A gift?" Since the unsolicited surprise of Roose Bolton, she was fed up with gifts.

Without a response the Hound grabbed and tossed the peasant boy forward. The hood slipped off and…

Catelyn was unable to stand on her feet anymore.


	2. Through the Neck

_"There is no way to deploy. No one has ever taken the Moat."_

 _"From the south," said Robb. "But if we can attack from the north and west simultaneously, and take the ironmen in the rear while they are beating off what they think is my main thrust up the causeway, then we have a chance. […] There are ways through the Neck that are not on any map. Ways known only to the crannogmen – narrow trails between the bogs, and wet roads through the reeds that only boats can follow." He turned to his two messengers. "Tell Howland Reed that he is to send guides to me, two days after I have started up the causeway. To the center battle, where my own standard flies. Three hosts will leave the Twins, but only two will reach Moat Cailin. Mine own battle will melt away into the Neck, to reemerge on the Fever. […] We will fall upon the Moat from three sides on the first day of the new century, as the ironmen are waking with hammers beating at their heads from the mead they'll quaff the night before."_

 _[…]_ _"There are risks. If the crannogmen should fail you..."_

 _"We will be no worse than before. But they will not fail. My father knew the worth of Howland Reed."_

/A Storm of Swords/

* * *

 **II. Through the Neck**

Robb was quite pleased – as it was expected of a just married man – but a little confused too, when he entered Catelyn's bedchamber.

It was a grey morning. The sun glowed with in pale gold behind the clouds passing above the Riverlands. The Green Fork, turbid with alluvium and mud, rolled along in the deep between the Twins.

Catelyn didn't want Robb to find out in front of dozens of Frey and other noblemen that Arya was alive and finally – so miraculously – they got her back. She felt she had given them enough of a spectacle last night – settle for that! Rather, she called her son, right after he had woken up.

Arya sat by a tiny table eating. Catelyn couldn't take her eyes off her. When she saw her features appearing from under the hood at the wedding feast – long face, mouth so similar to Ned's, grey eyes, soaked but messy brown hair – she thought her imagination was playing a trick on her. But a mother couldn't make such a mistake, Catelyn knew that. She ran to Arya and wrapped her in her arms. She was kneeling there on the cold stone floor murmuring all kinds of nonsense into her daughter's ear – she didn't even remember for how long.

Since then, she kept Arya at her side. She also insisted Arya to sleep in her chamber.

They didn't talk, although she was quite sure that her daughter had enough stories for weeks. Catelyn thought Arya was as glad as her that they could be together, but – for now – equally embarrassed. In truth, the look on her face was the same one Catelyn was seeing on Robb's these days. She doubted that her daughter would ever tell them – honestly, from the beginning to the end – what had happened to her in King's Landing and after that.

There was a knock on the door, then the handmaid announced that the King had arrived. Arya swallowed the last bite with some difficulty, while she straightened her back adopting the posture which was so natural to Sansa and so strange to her. And about which Septa Mordane had so many quarrels with her in Winterfell and surely later as well.

Robb walked into the chamber with brisk steps, but then he was rooted to the spot. Catelyn understood his feelings perfectly – dismay, joy, unbelief. She had experienced the same.

"Mother," he groaned at first and then, "Arya?"

Arya sprang up, ran to Robb and hugged him.

"Arya!"

* * *

"Sandor Clegane?"

"He resigned from the Lannisters' service during the battle of the Blackwater." Catelyn explained. "After that he was roaming in the Riverlands. Then he stumbled across your sister. He didn't disclose how and where." The Hound himself told her all of this last night, filling his tale with a lot of obscenity. He also said that while the Blackwater Bay was burning outside, he offered Sansa to rescue her out of the town and take her back to her family. But Sansa refused. This didn't surprise Catelyn. It would have been uncharacteristic of her to do otherwise. Catelyn herself would have advised against the offer as well. However, it was maddening to imagine having both of her daughters with her now. But she didn't want to seem greedy in fear of the gods' anger.

"What does he expect in return?"

"He would like if you let him join the army."

" _My_ army? He is an oathbreaker who threw the white cloak away. A deserter who abandoned his king in the greatest need. Even if that king was Joffrey Baratheon."

Both of those were punished by death in the Seven Kingdoms.

"He killed Mycah," Arya muttered. Up to now she had listened to their conversation in unusual silence.

Catelyn didn't understand what she talked about, and apparently neither did Robb, but it none of that mattered. The Hound had a lot of sins, one more or one less would hardly have tilted the scales.

"He is too dangerous," Robb said after a long deliberation.

Catelyn nodded. Arya too.

However, Robb continued. "Too dangerous to let him leave."

Arya's jaw dropped. "You want to take him into your service? But–"

Robb looked at her. It wasn't a brother's glance but the King's. Catelyn had already known it all too well. Though it was certainly new to Arya.

"You can't trust him," Catelyn said. "He also bit his previous master's hand."

"I don't intend on trusting him. However, recent events proved that sometimes the most trustworthy people make the biggest trouble."

Catelyn took the hint but she wasn't willing to blush because of a scolding coming from his own son. Even if said son was a ruler.

Robb also knew that. He nodded and offered his hand to her. "Mother, may I speak with you?"

They moved to the window. The soft autumn sun disappeared behind the clouds that were becoming thicker and darker by every moment. Green Fork grew angrier and the brown water flowed along the walls of the Twins covered by algae, whirling. Across the river banners with towers and direwolf were dancing in the wind.

Arya watched them from the corner of her eyes. Catelyn guessed it would take a lot of time for Arya to accept that she was no longer on her own and losing most of the independence she got used to during her wandering, she needed to turn into an obedient little girl again – as obedient as Arya could be.

"I won't send you to Seagard."

Catelyn was thunderstruck. She had expected – now that Arya returned to them – Robb to be more stubborn and insist even more firmly on his decision.

"You said you wanted to keep me safe." And to punish her for Jaime Lannister, not that Robb would ever admit to that.

"It is still true. However, now that the Kingslayer is in our hands again and we have got Arya back, I must change my plans."

"So will we stay at the Twins?" Catelyn didn't understand. The Crossing and the Neck was nearly at the same distance as Seagard and the Neck. And if she imagined that Lord Walder and numbers of Waldas would be her company for months… She was angry when Robb had declared she would go with Lord Mallister. But maybe together with Arya…

"Roslin stays at the Twins. And Lannister will travel to Seagard with Jason Mallister. I know I have to trust Lord Walder but it's easier if his loyalty isn't exposed to such temptation… You and Arya will keep me company to Greywater Watch."

Greywater Watch?

She realized that there was no other option because Robb had already said clearly that he wouldn't let her return to Riverrun. This was also a way of teaching some kind of lesson to Edmure for the battle by Stone Mill. The fact that he didn't entrust his uncle with the defense of his mother (and sister) didn't mean open mistrust yet, but some reservation surely. That part Catelyn understood. Edmure deserved it for his irresponsibility. But again, despite all of this, Greywater Watch?

"Oh, Robb! Aren't you afraid that you take too much risks if put everything on one card?"

Robb looked at her with a bitter smile. "Of course, I am. But if Howland Reed refuses to help and doesn't lead us through the swamp, the campaign is foredoomed to failure anyway. If he is the kind of man my father believed him to be, you and Arya will be in greater safety in his castle than you would be at the seashore or here or Riverrun."

"He didn't respond to your calling," Catelyn reminded him.

"He didn't respond to my father ten years ago either when the North took up arms against the ironmen. But I don't expect him to leave his swamp, just to let me in there. I was taught that Howland Reed is a friend and the most loyal bannerman of the Starks of Winterfell."

Catelyn didn't oppugn that when Robb wanted to give Lord Reed a role in his campaign. She wouldn't have oppugned it either if his son had wanted to bring her alone to Greywater Watch. But the possibility of putting Arya in danger again…

However, Robb had already decided and Catelyn experienced – many times – how strong-willed he could be. And with a crown on his head he was worse.

* * *

The army was preparing to leave. Since dawn Lord Walder's castle had been loud with shouting and the rattle of armors. It was almost a relief to go down to the cells. Even if Catelyn had to pay for the silence with fusty smell that was heavy on her lungs and with damp air that made her gown stick unpleasantly to her skin.

The guards opened the cell's door for her willingly but from the glance they exchanged Catelyn knew they heard what had happened in Riverrun so they would watch her.

"Lady Stark!" The Kingslayer greeted. "You are bringing neither the wench nor some wine? I guess I won't enjoy your visit as much as the previous one."

Catelyn didn't reply. She didn't even know why she had come here.

"I expected better quarters. Your brother banished me to the depth of Riverrun, because I tried to escape or, at least, helped to be escaped. But from that prison you released me, my lady. So you are guiltier than I am. Despite that, I doubt you had spent these days in the cell next to mine."

Catelyn raised her torch closer to the Kingslayer to have a better look at him. The light bothered Lannister.

He tried to behave the way he did earlier, pretend he was the same man he once was. But he couldn't deceive Catelyn. His voice sounded bitter, his eyes seemed hunted. He had lost a lot from of his weight – his features showed that –, though from Harrenhal to the Twins Lord Bolton fed him properly. His hair was cut short. Not so long ago, probably, but rather roughly.

"Is Lady Brienne a prisoner as well?" The Kingslayer asked a bit more seriously and he seemed relieved when Catelyn answered this time.

"Her armor and weapons were taken but she can move around the castle freely."

"Unless she would like to see me."

She raised her eyebrows. "Do you think she would?"

He sighed. "We took a long journey together, my lady. It was longer than I can explain it in days or miles. I didn't believe I would feel this way but I almost miss her. I can only imagine how much is she miss me.

"She hasn't mentioned it to me." In fact, they didn't talk a lot. Catelyn was angry with the girl, although she knew it was unfair of her.

"Ladies are bashful. Lady Brienne particularly. Is she going to stay at the Twins as well, or am I going to get her as company to Lord Mallister?"

"She is coming with us–" _…to the North._ She didn't say it. Though perhaps the Kingslayer had already heard from the guards or earlier from Lord Bolton's men.

"One day, if you will have the opportunity, ask her to tell you about our adventures." The Kingslayer suggested. "They are worthy of songs. To be fair, probably of rather obscene ones. I may write a song, while I am here. Or later in Seagard. Though I don't have such talent for poetry as my brother. So, I guess I should leave that to him."

Her mouth tightened upon the mention of the Imp.

"Your daughter also likes songs, doesn't she? It's useful if there is something in common in husband and wife. In my dear sister and good old Robert there wasn't any, and look how it ended!"

She would have liked to say something or rather step closer and slap him. But she stayed silent and motionless.

"Lord Bolton shared the news with me when he entertained me in Harrenhal." The Kingslayer explained. "It's joyful that we are relatives now by the marriage of my brother and your daughter."

She gritted her response between her teeth. "I didn't find any joy in it." The word burnt her throat.

"Because it isn't your life that depends on _my_ judgment." The Kingslayer pointed out. "Maybe a bond like that means nothing to your royal son, but it does matter in the eyes of the gods, even of your wild northern gods. At least, our master taught me that. And it's harder to kill a relative – any relative – than strangers."

"Do you believe in gods?" Catelyn asked doubtfully.

"I have seen too much to believe in them. In fact, I may have also seen too much not to believe. But your faith is important here, not mine."

"Sansa was forced into that marriage."

"Of course. Though, if you are interested in my opinion, my brother was too."

Catelyn – quite unworthy of a lady – snorted. The Kingslayer's company did harm to her etiquette.

Lannister was smiling, though not mockingly like she expected, but mournfully. "You wouldn't be surprised if you knew him. But I am afraid your journey was not as fruitful in this regard as mine with Lady Brienne. Tyrion is remarkably stern on himself, because people have always been in his entire life. He doesn't believe anyone would consider him a suitable husband even with the gold of Casterly Rock. So he doesn't want to force himself upon any woman. He wouldn't have wed your daughter if he had seen a better solution for her."

"Do you want to make me believe that he is protecting Sansa?"

The Kingslayer shrugged. "He was born as a dwarf and a Lannister. Unforgivable sins, I admit. But he is a good man, good enough for a wolf-girl, too."

 _'Not for Sansa.'_ Especially now, in the middle of a war in which his family is the enemy.

"As for Lady Brienne," the Kingslayer continued, returning to their previous subject, "tell her I authorize her to repeat anything she had heard from me."

Catelyn narrowed her eyes, suspiciously. "What do you hope to achieve from that?"

"If your son's campaign is successful, he will have time again to deal with me. When the time to decide about my fate comes, I would be glad if he leaved my head on my neck."

"Could he hear anything from Brienne what convinces him to do that?"

Suddenly, the Kingslayer's eyes became cold. His voice, as well. "I will beg neither to you nor the wolf pup. Lady Brienne, however… Her chivalric ideals will force her to defend all of those who she feels deserve it."

"You pushed my son out a tower's window!"

"We are here again, Lady Stark? I pushed him out, yes, with this hand." His chains were ringing as he showed up his stump. "But Vargo Hoat took it from me."

"It doesn't obliterate your sins that you no longer have the hand you had committed them with."

"In this case, it doesn't obliterate my merits either. Even if there is undoubtedly less of them."

Catelyn had enough of this duel of words with him. She turned on her heels and walked out of the cell. She wished that the goat had also cut the Kingslayer's tongue out.

* * *

Five days were left of the year and they were marching towards Moat Cailin on the causeway. If everything went as Robb had planned, the leaders who Howland Reed sent to them would appear before the next dawn.

When they stopped to rest for the night, Robb and his advisers retired to spend the remaining hours hunching over maps.

Catelyn sat by a camp fire watching the tent. She had been putting off the conversation with her son since their army left the Twins. From dawn to dusk she was riding at Arya's side and she ate with her too. With her and with Brienne whom nobody else accepted as company.

Arya began to loosen up. As if she only believed now that she really was with her mother and was going home. She told some confusing stories about Beric Dondarrion, who, it seemed, didn't die. (Arya insisted that he did, six times and the last time from the Hound's sword.) She talked about a castle where she served. (But she said she didn't know for sure which castle was that because it changed hands more times while she lived there.) About a peculiar esossi who was transported to the North locked in a cage. About a boy – named Gendry – for whom the golden cloaks looked more than for her, the Hand's daughter.

There was something odd in her tales. All of them became vague then suddenly ended at the part where Arya escaped a great danger. It seemed like she didn't remember the circumstances clearly.

This time Brienne was telling how she defeated Loras Tyrell and won the blue cloak of the Rainbow Guard. Arya drank her words but Catelyn's thoughts were elsewhere. By now a lot of things accumulated that she wanted to share with his son. First of all, she would have liked to bring up that Robb rested far too little – and probably he ate not much either. Though it had been like that since Riverrun. Then she wanted to confide him into her delights and concerns about Arya. That… well, maybe that could wait until they are in the North. In safe. Victoriously. But there was a subject above all of these that couldn't tolerate more delay.

When she saw the lords heading out of Robb's tent, she stood up and smoothed down her skirts. She left Arya on Brienne's watch and resolutely walked to the tent. The guards didn't stop her. One of them even pulled the tarp aside for her. It seemed like the King expected her that night.

"I know what you want to say," Robb said as soon as he saw her. He plunked down into a chair with a sigh and gestured to another, offering a place to Catelyn. His crown lied on the top of the map framing the land they were currently on. However, Catelyn knew she was talking to her king now, not to her son. "I was waiting for you to bring it up. But, obviously, you are aware, too, what my answer will be."

She presumed but proceeded to speak nonetheless.

"Things have changed since you prepared your last will." At the odd whim of the gods just a few days later. "The legitimization can't be revoked." _'Unfortunately.'_ "As I warned you. But now Arya returned to us. She is your heir."

"Jon is my heir," Robb replied wearily.

A wave of anger washed over her, but she restrained herself. So when she began to speak again, her voice wasn't angry just immensely rigorous. "You want to give him what has to be your sister's."

"As long as I am alive none of them will have it. Neither the North, nor Winterfell.

"But if–" She was unable to say that or even think of it. However…

Robb understood even without words. "Then it won't be Arya that the North needs. We are at war, mother, and she is just a little girl." When he saw that Catelyn wanted to argue, he raised his hand. "Jon is also young, but only as much as myself."

"It's not his age that I'm worried about."

"I know. And I also know you disapprove–"

"Your father would disapprove, too."

"Probably. That as well that I called the banners and marched on the South and accepted the crown and didn't make peace when I could have. Though I always tried to do the right thing, because that's what I learnt from him. But I'm running out of options. And in this situation this is my only one."

"When you were in the West..." Catelyn began. He jerked his head up like Grey Wind did when he sensed danger. "Was it a right decision, too?"

She thought her son wouldn't reply this time either. Then…

"It was a terrible decision."

Catelyn didn't want to urge him to reveal more. She was afraid if she said something, if she pushed, Robb would blench again and she would lose the chance to find out what happened at the Westerlands.

At the end, Robb continued. "I knew whatever I did I would pay with my honor for it. So I weighed what I would buy in each case. Regardless of the sacrifice I had to make."

Catelyn felt like she began to understand, the majority of it, at least. "What was her–"

"Your Grace!" One of the guards spoke up at the entrance of the tent. "Messenger from Lord Reed!"


	3. Lord of Greywater Watch

**Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.**

 **And thank you for the reviews.**

* * *

 _"Harrenhal!" Bran knew at once. "It was Harrenhal!"_

 _Meera smiled. "Was it? Beneath its walls he saw tents of many colors, bright banners cracking in the wind, and knights in mail and plate on barded horses. He smelled roasting meats, and heard the sound of laughter and the blare of heralds' trumpets. A great tourney was about to commence, and champions from all over the land had come to contest it."_

 _/A Storm of Swords/_

* * *

 **III. Lord of Greywater Watch**

"Your Grace! My Lady! What an unexpected fortune to entertain you in Greywater Watch."

Howland Reed greeted them in his castle with these words. He was a small and slim man with green eyes and brown hair, full of courtesy. Catelyn knew they had already met in Riverrun at her wedding but she was unable to recall.

"I am truly grateful for your help," Robb said.

Howland Reed shook his head then suddenly knelt before him.

"Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you. To Winterfell I pledge the faith of Greywater. I swear it by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron. I swear it by ice and fire."

Robb was embarrassed, Catelyn saw. He had learnt about this from Maester Luwin but the history of the crannogmen and the Starks of Winterfell went back to the distant past, thousands of years when the First Men had stepped on the land of Westeros. Whatever the traditional answer for Howland Reed's oath was, he couldn't remember it. However, nobody could have told that when he started to speak in a definite and clear voice.

"I shall not call your people to a dishonor fight. My roof and my sword shall give you protection as in peace, as in war. And my word shall give justice according to laws of gods and men. I swear it by earth and water. I swear it by bronze and iron. I swear it by ice and fire."

Lord Reed stood up. "I sent my children to Winterfell to tell your brother these words. I am glad that you heard them as well. Your father was a good friend of mine. If you weren't my liege lord and my king, I would help your for his memory."

He had a daughter and a son, Catelyn remembered. The girl was the elder, about Robb's age.

"Are your children in Dreadfort now?" Roose Bolton said that those who had survived the burning of Winterfell went there with his bastard's leading.

Lord Reed turned to her. "I don't know if it would be so, Lady Stark."

"We might share the same pain then."

The man swayed his head. His eyes were full of sorrow but Catelyn knew it wasn't for his own grief.

"My son, Jojen has green dreams, my lady. He would known if he had gone to die to Winterfell."

Catelyn always thought of those kinds of things as northern superstitions. A tale from Old Nan's countless ones. It was good to nothing but to mesmerize her children's fantasy. However, she envied Lord Reed for that vain hope. Surely, Lord of Greywater Watch just deluded himself but he could do it, at least. She didn't get that much.

"Greywater Watch won't be a match for the sumptuousness of Riverrun or Winterfell," Lord Reed said. "But I hope you will find your chambers comfortable."

Robb assured him that he couldn't even wish for more than the comfort of Greywater Watch after spending most nights of the last year in a tent or under the open sky. Then he added how much of an honor is to be a guest in a castle where visitors are seldom coming from outside the swamp.

"Supper will be served after sundown. Until then, please, eat some bites before you are going to rest."

For his wave, a woman – as small and slim as him – hurried in with a plate. She brought cheese, bread and salt. And some kind of meat. Catelyn hoped it wasn't frog.

The woman was followed by a young lad with a jug and two cups.

"Be welcome beneath my roof, and at my table," said Howland Reed in a solemn voice.

* * *

Arya was told that she could explore Greywater Watch. Despite that her mother would have asked her not to do that… only if Arya had cared to tell her about her plans. She waited until Robb and Mother locked themselves into their bedchambers, then she slipped out of the door and went for a walk.

Her last – and only – journey through the Neck lived clearly in her memory. They hadn't got to Greywater Watch then. It would have been impossible without a crannogman's lead. Instead, they marched on the narrow causeway. Sansa hated with all of her heart but for Arya each day of the crossing – each of the twelve – was a great adventure. They moved in a leisurely pace that was throttled down even more by the wheel house and the fat king who liked feasting and hunting. Arya didn't mind it, because every morning she and Mycah went to an expedition from which they returned dirty from top to bottom. (Arya usually got a talking-to from Sansa or Septa Mordane for that.) But the swamp – even along the causeway – was full of thrilling sights and Arya was left wondering what hid in the depth of the Neck then. Now she could trace it down.

She didn't know much about the crannogmen, only that they ate frogs. She hoped it was true and they would serve some for them at dinner. She really wanted to taste frog meat.

The crannogmen, reputedly, built their huts on swimming isles. Even Greywater Watch which was far more than a simple hut. Though if the castle moved, it did so slowly that she couldn't sense.

She found a door opening to a tiny balcony. The air outside was heavy with humidity, faint smell of rot mingled into it. Millions of insects were humming at the swamp. The westering sun was low in the sky. The water seemed almost black and the shadows were growing. Arya forced her eyes to catch sight of a snake hanging between the verdures but she didn't have any luck.

She had to think a lot of things over. As they were riding here from the Twins, she started to change back into Arya Stark. And she left Arry, Weasel and Nan behind along with the miles but she knew she couldn't forget them. Neither what they did nor what they knew. She wouldn't have wanted anyway. After all they belonged to her – but that must remain a secret. Mother and Robb wouldn't be glad about Arry and even less about Weasel or Nan. Nan especially worried her.

At the Twins, when she was stood before the table her mother sat by, Lady Catelyn wasn't the only one who immediately recognized her. The Leech Lord just glanced at her with his unsettling, pale eyes and knew whom he saw: Nan, his cupbearer from Harrenhal. It didn't make him happy.

Arya was afraid he would betray her but Lord Bolton kept quiet. At that night and since then too. His reason might be the same as hers. She wouldn't have liked to admit she didn't trust an – obviously loyal – bannerman of the Starks. And Roose Bolton wouldn't have vaunted that he let his king's sister slip through his fingers. His king's sister who served weasel soup and killed a stable boy…

There was another thing. She was allowed to talk to Robb longer only once but his brother promised they would go home to Winterfell soon. That wasn't exactly news but what Robb said about Jon was. _'His name is Jon Stark now. And if he and the gods want so, he will be with us again.'_ Arya was glad for it, though she remembered she had her own news for his half-brother. Important news. She would have to share with him what she heard from Edric Dayne about Wylla, a handmaiden of Starfall. Who was Jon's mother and still alive. Though far in the South, shores of the Summer Sea. Father couldn't have told Jon all of this. Perhaps he wouldn't have wanted. But she would do it instead of him.

The night was falling and the swamp filled with new noises, nocturnal noises. Arya would have liked to listen to them longer, guessing what kind of animals they belonged to. But supper was close and she remembered that she wanted to seek a proper place for practice before eating. She didn't have any opportunity to take Needle to her hand since she had arrived at the Twins with the Hound.

* * *

Catelyn sent Arya to sleep and – what a miracle – she didn't protest. Shortly after, she would follow her daughter but Lord Reed said he wanted to speak with her and Robb.

So Catelyn waited until Lady Jyana Reed retired to bed. She waited until the lords who accompanied them to Greywater Watch said 'good night' one by one and left the hall. Lord Reed stood up then and asked them to join him.

They arrived at a smaller chamber where through the web of trails the moon shone in. Catelyn was glad for the clear night. From the Twins to Greywater Watch and before that from Riverrun to the Twins it was raining or drizzling almost every day and night to make their journey harder.

Lord Reed offered them a chair and wine.

The kinder he was, the more worried she became. Maybe his secretive behavior discommoded her.

"When you arrived at Greywater Watch, I said it was an unexpected fortune for me and that's true," Lord Reed began. "There is a story which in its own entirety only two men knew in this world. Ned and me. After his death the secret remained mine alone. And I believe the time to pass on has now come. Before it would sink into oblivion with me."

Catelyn realized she was gripping her cup stronger than needed. Carefully – so Robb wouldn't notice how restless she was – she took a deep breath and relaxed her fingers.

Robb scowled and leaned forward probably without being aware of it.

"I attended my first and last tourney in Harrenhal in the year of the false spring. Merely as a spectator, of course. People of the Neck weren't born warriors, that is why I was unable to protect myself when my way crossed three taunting squires'. They knocked me to the ground, snatched my spear away, mocking me. I couldn't fight them but then someone else came and did. A Stark of Winterfell."

"My father?" Robb asked.

Lord Reed shook his head. "Your aunt, Lady Lyanna. But I met your father and his brothers not long after. They took me into their pavilion and tended my injuries. And – though I hadn't known it yet – one of them decided to avenge the incident in my name."

He filled up his cup again. The wine was glowing gold in the candles' light.

"I prayed for such thing to the Old Gods but I didn't believe they would listen until on the second day's afternoon a mysterious knight stepped into the lists. That knight was wearing a rusty armor made of ill-fitting bits and pieces but carried a shield with a white weirwood with red laughing mouth on it. Because people didn't know whose face was hiding under the helmet, they named the knight after that shield. My champion challenged the lords of the three squires who attacked me and defeated them, then rode to their pavilions and spoke aloud, _'Teach your squire honor; that shall be ransom enough.'_ " His voice changed. He imitated not only the words but the intonation those were pronounced with many years ago. "The knights obeyed and they got their horses and armors back."

How much Bran would have liked this story, Catelyn thought and her heart smarted.

"However, the king wasn't content and some of the lords were repining too. They demanded the Knight of the Laughing Tree to reveal himself but the knight refused. And for the next morning he disappeared. Many knights and squires went out on a quest looking for him, even Rhaegar himself but just to appease his father's rage. The knight didn't turn up. But the armor and the shield were hanging on a tree."

Robb frowned. "Which one of them was the knight? Which Stark?"

Lord Reed was smiling. "What do you think, Your Grace?"

Catelyn already knew. Brandon would have revealed himself to enjoy his triumph, Ned would have fought openly with the knights, he wouldn't have put on a disguise. And Benjen was too young.

"Lyanna."

"Lyanna, indeed," Lord Reed nodded and now his smile was full of sorrow. "As I said, the knight didn't turn up. And it's true, she wasn't brought to Aerys, though someone found and unmasked her."

That one Robb guessed easily. "Rhaegar."

"He didn't intend to expose the Knight of the Laughing Tree to his father's unreasonable fury. And he wanted even less after he realized whom the disguise hid. He was just curious."

"So he was interested in Lyanna since then," Catelyn said.

"Certainly. Though she was a beautiful young lady who would have deserved the rose crown simply with that. But not in that tourney. And not at that price."

Lord Reed stood up and walked to the window, back to Catelyn and Robb.

"You obviously know the story of what happened after that. But… It was the story of Robert Baratheon, not Lyanna's or the prince's. If the Battle of the Trident had another outcome, we would tell differently what had been before that."

 _'Truth of triumphants,'_ Catelyn thought. Robb was the King in the North now but if he failed, how would he be called? She hoped they would never have to know.

"What would we tell if Rhaegar had returned from the Trident?"

Lord Reed turned around and looked into her eyes. "We would talk about a girl who was as wild as the North and untamable like the storms of winter. About a girl who didn't presume that with her acts she would destroy an ancient dynasty and ruin a realm. About a prince, maybe… who believed in prophecies above all and to whom the gods were so gracious that he could follow his heart while he did what he thought was his duty."

It was understandable that Ned never spoke about that. One listening ear or one gossiping tongue and only the gods know how Robert would have punished the treason of the Starks. Lyanna who abandoned and humiliated him and Eddard who had let him love and mourn an undeserving woman for years.

"The end of the story is different, of course," Lord Reed spoke up when Catelyn thought he had already said everything he wanted. "When Ned and I returned from Dorne to the new king who was waiting for news, we could tell him that we had killed three members of the Kingsguard in fight but Lyanna was dying when we had found her. We could tell him all of this because all of this was true. But we had to keep a lot of other truths quiet. Then and ever since."

Catelyn realized that what Howland Reed really wanted to share with them would only come now. The uneasiness which she almost forgot about returned. The air seemed somehow thicker and heavier.

"Lyanna was screaming when we arrived at the tower. Ned never mentioned that, did he?"

Catelyn shook her head.

"Well… it would have been difficult to explain," Lord Reed said with a sour smile. "We didn't understand either. Three members of the Kingsguard were there, the best warriors of the Seven Kingdoms. Knights whose duty was to protect women. Despite that they didn't go to watch what was wrong. Later, we found out that they hadn't because they would have been unable to help with what happened inside." Lord Reed remained silent for a while. Maybe he remembered the fight with the guards or pondered how he should continue. "I don't know how much time had passed until Ned could go up the tower. Minutes or hours? To me it felt like an eternity. I had let him hurry to his sister alone, while I stayed with the dead and dyings to close their eyes. I felt something terrible was happening but I wanted to defer the moment when I find out what it was. When it becomes irrevocable. We had fought so much. We had killed so much. Corpses laid around me… I didn't want to accept that all of this was useless. But finally, when shadows began to grow I went after Ned. Someone had to bring him out of there." He sighed deeply. "Closing my eyes I can see so clearly as if I were still there, as if I had never left that chamber. I can see the blue roses. And the blood. So much blood."

Robb didn't understand. Catelyn didn't dare to.

Screams and blood and a battle where sword couldn't help. She had already fought it. For five times.

Lord Reed studied their faces, then glancing to Robb he continued.

"Your aunt gave birth to a child, Your Grace, and with her last breath she entrusted him to your father."

* * *

Dawn arrived at the swamp. Catelyn stood at the parapet grabbing the damp stones. She watched the sun rising over the horizon. Deep down, on the surface of water and between the ancient trees thick, milk-white fog was swirling.

When she heard steps pounding behind her, she knew without turning that Robb arrived.

"Mother…"

Catelyn laughed, curtly. Her voice was sharp and disagreeable, even to her own ears.

"He is my blood, and that is all you need to know."

"What?" Robb stepped beside her.

"Your father told me that when I asked him about Jon Snow's parentage. I was curious whether it was true or not what people were talking about Ashara Dayne being his mother. And your father snapped at me, _'He is my blood, and that is all you need to know.'_ "

"He didn't lie."

"No, but he was wrong because that wasn't _all_." Indeed, Ned didn't lie to her that night but now she was even more cross with him for that.

"Would it have mattered?"

"Yes!" Catelyn bursted out with a voice of bitterness and looked at her son. "It would have mattered a lot if I had to live in shame because of treason or honor."

She was aware how selfish she sounded but this was how she felt. Ned could live with the idea of doing the right and noble thing but he denied the same from her. And he denied his trust as well. For many years.

However, the whole case had another player whom Catelyn didn't want to think of. She never wanted. But Robb did.

"And with Jon?"

To calm herself down, Catelyn drew the crisp morning air, deeply. "I don't know, Robb. Maybe… when he was little… if then…" She shook her head. "I don't know."

Jon Snow – she couldn't think of him other way – no matter to whom or to what he was born grew up as the bastard of Winterfell, bastard of Ned. And nothing could change that. He would remain the same person if he knew the truth. And he would remain the same in her eyes as well.

Meanwhile, Robb made his decision.

"Jon was always my brother and he still is," he said. "The secret is yours. You can do whatever you want with it. But I would like if you told him. With time. He has right to know."

With that he left Catelyn alone.

 _'The secret is yours.'_

A gesture that his father never gave her. But it was also a test.

And Catelyn wasn't sure she could cope with it.

Jon Snow always wanted to be Robb's brother and Eddard Stark's son in his name, too – and he got it. This was more than enough reason for her to tell him what they had learned from Lord Reed. For it to be a reminder for the boy that it didn't matter what his name was and who the world thought he was. He would never have stronger claim for Winterfell than Arya – or Catelyn's yet unborn grandchildren.

But it wasn't a good motive. Robb, however, wanted her to do the right thing.

She wasn't ready for it. Not yet. But one day, maybe. With time.

* * *

 **Author's note:**

Lyanna & Rhaegar & Elia: It was bigamy, not annulment.

And Jon has a Targaryen name, but it's definitely not Aegon.


	4. North and South

**Author's note:** Sansa's part happens earlier than Jon's despite putting it at the end of the chapter which seemed more logical to me because of their content.

I know that according to the books Sam wasn't in Castle Black when the wildlings attacked but the show (which I've just rewatched) confused me. So I made a mistake in that.

* * *

 _"Your father died by the sword, but he was highborn, a King's Hand. For you, a noose will serve. Ser Alliser, take this turncloak to an ice cell."_

 _"My lord is wise." Ser Alliser seized Jon by the arm._

 _Jon yanked away and grabbed the knight by the throat with such ferocity that he lifted him off the floor. He would have throttled him if the Eastwatch men had not pulled him off. Thorne staggered back, rubbing the marks Jon's fingers had left on his neck. "You see for yourselves, brothers. The boy is a wildling."_

/A Storm of Swords/

* * *

 **IV. North and South**

He had spent more than a day in the ice cell before Alliser Thorne came to him and had him be pulled out to talk. About his execution, Jon thought. And he didn't mind it, really. Hanging on the end of a rope couldn't be worse than slowly freezing to death in the depth of the cell.

He got covered in thick furs and they had him drink something warm. Jon couldn't tell what taste it had, at first he didn't even feel its heat, either. Then he began to shiver and with that pain arrived, too.

His mind was as numb as his body. It took him some time to realize he wasn't alone. And it took him some time to recognize the man who sat by his side.

"Lord Snow," Thorne greeted him.

"I'm not Lord Snow." Jon didn't feel like listening to his mocking. Though he wasn't sure whether he was able to say the words with his benumbed tongue.

It seemed like he was, because Thorne answered them. "You're right. You aren't that." There was something odd in his voice that Jon didn't quite understand. "Turncloak, this name fits you better, anyway."

"I'm not turncloak, either."

"Maybe not."

He was in a staggeringly permissive mood, considering how much he hated Jon from the start – and more surprisingly so, because the last time they met Jon grabbed him by the throat and nearly throttled him.

"But how can we trust you?" It almost sounded like he was truly looking for a solution and waited for Jon to offer it.

Well, if it depended on that only…

"I helped to defend the Wall."

"And before that you helped to attack it."

"I did what…"

"Qhorin Halfhand ordered you to do, of course, of course," Thorne said with an irritated wave of his hand. "I never liked you, you know that well. I would watch Janos Slynt hanging you with great pleasure. In fact, I would hang you myself for his command."

There was obviously a 'but' coming. Thorne, however, was too far into his heated speech to get to it. Jon waited.

"However, there is someone who is more powerful than Janos Slynt and he has different plans with you."

More powerful than Janos Slynt? Jon frowned. Perhaps Cotter Pyke or Denys Mallister sent a raven warning the brothers in Castle Black that they wanted to question him before anything else happened. Could that be enough to restrain Janos Slynt? Or maybe… Slynt previously served the Lannisters, although then they were the ones sending him to the Wall. But he may still have had some friends in King's Landing. But why would anyone be interested so suddenly in a black brother who had never been known as more than a bastard? And if a person like that had existed, Slynt would have been the first who would think of that. But then…?

"The Starks always called themselves friends of the Watch," Thorne continued. "And tending this friendship is not so bad for the Watch, either. Your brother is named Rebel and Usurper in King's Landing, yet he is still the King in the North. And after all, the Wall stands in the North, and 'winter is coming' as your house's words say."

Jon understood less and less.

"Robb?"

"The King Who Regained the North. Or he is going to regain it soon. And he wants to get back something else as well. A bastard who isn't welcomed here anymore."

"I took the vows."

"And you broke them. Vows can be resolved, anyway. If someone is willing to pay the price for it. Your brother will pay it."

* * *

Jon, as soon as he was able to stand on his feet, went to Maester Aemon. The maester made him sit, near the fire, and called for food and drink for him.

"You can't take to the road half-frozen and with an empty stomach," he said.

So Jon ate and drank, first time properly in two days. He didn't come to Aemon for this, but the maester was right. He needed his strength. All the strength he could regain so suddenly. Aemon sat down across him, but he didn't say anything for a long time. Jon didn't mind it. He had to gather his thoughts.

"Something is troubling you," the old maester remarked finally.

Before answering, Jon sipped some of the spicy wine. "I'll become an oathbreaker. As soon as I step out of the gate of Castle Black."

"You are absolved of your vows."

"That can't be possible."

"They would have done it for me too, if I had decided that way. I told you."

"And you also told me that you had chosen to stay on the Wall. All three times."

" _I_ chose that. It doesn't mean you have to do the same."

"But I can't choose."

"But when you could, you left," the maester reminded him.

"Then I returned." Of course, he didn't turn his horse out of his own will that night.

Maester Aemon didn't forget this detail, either. "This time none of your brothers will bring you back, because some of them want to see you dead and some of them want you to live."

To buy a little time, Jon ate the last bites from his plate, then drank the last sip from his cup.

"It's not that I don't wish to be in Winterfell or I wouldn't like to be on Robb's side or see my sister again. Because I want those more than anything." When he said, he knew it was true. "But I was beyond the Wall and I know what is coming with the winter. My place is here."

Maester Aemon smiled. "Everyone's place will be here when the time comes, Jon. And who could be more suited than you to convince the King in the North of that? You can serve the Watch without serving on the Wall. You can be the shield that guards the realm of men without wearing the black."

He was right, of course. And his words helped Jon to feel a bit better, a bit less guilty for leaving. Less guilty for his happiness.

No matter what Robb's plan was now, he couldn't return to the south. He would have to march to the Wall, sooner or later. And the North would have to be ready for the war against the Others when the real winter comes.

And he really could do more far from the Wall than in Castle Black.

"You can find your sword over there," Maester Aemon gestured to the corner of his chamber.

"My sword? I… I can't take it." Even Jorah Mormont didn't, and Jon himself left the sword behind, too, when he wanted to desert. It didn't occur to him – not even for a split moment – that he would do otherwise this time.

"It's yours," Aemon said. "It will also remain yours if you leave it here. But for whom would you leave it here?"

For Sam, he wanted to say. For Grenn. For Pyp. But none of them would hold the sword. None of them would be allowed. And Longclaw would end up in Slynt or Thorne's hands. Although… Did it really matter as long as the sword was wielded by someone who took the black? Jon admitted that it did matter.

Despite that he replied. "Lord Mormont gave it to the member of the Night's Watch."

"Lord Mormont gave it to Jon Snow."

"Who was a member of the Watch." He remembered one other thing but it sounded strange when he said it. "Besides, I'm not Jon Snow anymore."

Aemon stood up and shuffled for the sword, then pushed it to Jon's hands.

"Lord Mormont gave it to the boy who faced the wights and saved his life."

Jon almost repeated his former objection but he understood that between the two of them, Aemon was the more stubborn. After all, he had more practice, with ninety years. He should have known after his first useless protest that he couldn't win in this debate. And he couldn't deny – before himself, at least – that he wanted this sword. They belonged together.

"Would he agree with you?"

"If you use the sword what you got it for, he would, I believe."

* * *

Sam, Grenn and Pyp were waiting for him at the stables. Dolorous Edd was with them too.

"And now his watch is ended," Pyp said when he saw him.

"And now his watch is ended," Edd repeated in a solemn voice.

"Jon didn't die!" Grenn argued. "We said that when someone died."

"According to the tradition we should set him on fire now," Edd reminded him. "After that he would be dead enough. But I always had reservations about such stern traditionalism."

"But his watch is actually ended," Pyp said stoutly.

"I wouldn't declare that," Jon remarked remembering his conversation with Maester Aemon. "I will keep the vows I took before the old gods, even if I'm not the member of the Night Watch anymore."

"Sword in the darkness," Pyp nodded. "It's good and fair. But you may reconsider the beginning of the vows."

"Maybe." Maybe. He felt so. Suddenly, he got back the possibility for all of those things he had already given up on. In fact, he got more than that. Something he never had. He was giddy if it came to his mind.

"I know a thing or two about the ways of the lords," Edd said, "though no such great lords like the Starks. Yet I guess you will have to consider. What is forbidden to us, is duty for you from this day."

Now Grenn grinned too.

Jon then stepped to Sam who hadn't said a word.

Jon didn't know either what he could say. Or… rather there were countless things to be said, but for a farewell he didn't find the words. Finally, he chose the way in which Robb parted from him in the courtyard of Winterfell two years ago. After all, Sam was also his brother now.

"I am going to return," he promised after, laying his hand on the other boy's shoulder.

"Bring men as many as you can."

"I will try." It depended on Robb, not him. But maybe he could have a say in his brother's decisions. There was one more thing they had to talk about before he mounted his horse. "If Ghost came back…" He should have arrived long time ago. They had separated before he climbed the Wall with the wildlings. He was worried about Ghost, though he believed he would know if the direwolf got harmed. Besides, direwolves belonged to the world beyond the Wall so they were able to cope with its dangers. And Ghost… Ghost belonged to him as well, so he would find his way back; it didn't matter how much time he needed.

Sam nodded. "I will take care of him and immediately write to you."

Jon knew he had to go. Nonetheless, he hesitated. If he were honest with himself… he was afraid. He was afraid of stepping out of the gate of Castle Black. The future was never so tempting but it was never so uncertain and incredible either. They showed Robb's letter to him, he held it in his hands and recognized the handwriting because he learnt from Maester Luwin together with Robb. What's more, he spoke with Galbart Glover who brought the message and who had signed the decree about his legitimization and Robb's last will as witness. But… He needed time to get used to all of that.

Time which, of course, he couldn't spend standing on the courtyard of Castle Black.

"Farewell, Sam."

Sam smiled. "And now his watch is ended."

* * *

Sansa never imagined – not even in her dreams – that despite all ado, Joffrey's wedding with Lady Margaery would be as miserable as hers was with the Imp.

After all, this was a marriage wished and desired by both parties – expect for Cersei, maybe. They were preparing for it for months. Seventy-seven dishes were cooked. Armies of singers, dancers, pyromancers, trained animals and jugglers were called. Because it wasn't simply the celebration of the union between the Lion and the Rose, but it was also the dawn of a new century and with that of a new age. _Yet_ … This 'yet' brought a smile to Sansa's lips that morrow and kept it there during the breakfast in the Queen's Ballroom. The smile was a shield – healthier than the amount of chalices wine her lord husband tossed off. A shield but also a weapon – sharper than Joffrey's new sword, forged from valyrian steel; forged from the sword of Sansa's father.

The breakfast was adequately luxurious and equally as terrible. Sansa was all agog to be released. What Joffrey did with the Lives of Four Kings upset Tyrion. And what Lord Tywin had done with Ice upset her, although she didn't show. However, when Joffrey speechified how he would crush Robb's army then cut Robb himself into pieces just like he did with the book, his uncle's gift, Sansa imagined him face to face with her brother and face to face with Grey Wind. Though her features disclosed nothing of her thoughts – she made sure of it –, she saw on Joffrey that he did know what was on her mind. This would be a long – terribly long – day.

The Tyrells wanted to give their Margaery in marriage to the king with such sumptuousness the Seven Kingdoms hadn't seen for many years. _Yet_ – and that soured the people's joy and made their smiles false – the Lannisters held only five Kingdoms out of the seven now.

The other two proclaimed Robb as their king. One of them was raided by the ironborn, but because of that it didn't become more the Lannisters' or less the Starks'. And Robb was on his way home. According to the latest news, his army was marching on the causeway, through the Neck, to Moat Cailin.

Of course everyone said it was madness. They said it was impossible to take the Moat from the south. And out of all of them Joffrey seemed the loudest. But Lord Tywin was nervous and his opinion had more weight with Sansa.

"He fought with your brother in the Riverlands for months," the Imp explained one night when they had dinner.

"With my traitor brother," Sansa corrected him instinctively.

"With your traitor brother," her lord husband allowed. "My father knows he has a plan and he also knows that his plans generally work."

And the Hand's worry made the whole court strained. Only the king himself was too much of a fool to be concerned.

Sansa remembered her own journey through the Neck. She found it long and rather excruciating. The causeway was narrow – this was the main argument of those who asserted Robb's unavoidable defeat. The air in the swamp was unpleasant and heavy with vapor – which obviously didn't bother the soldiers as much as it did a young girl. She counted how long it takes for an army to make that distance. She prayed for Robb. First in the godswood, then in the sept because she felt like the more god – old or new – on her brother's side, the better.

Not long after she put on her gown for the wedding, the Imp arrived. Sansa expected some sort of compliment when he saw her (as always) – and she got it. Then she thanked him (as always).

Usually they would leave it at that, her husband would offer his arm to her and they would go. But this time Tyrion continued. "You look pale, my lady."

Sansa didn't understand what he wanted with that.

"If… you don't feel enough strength in yourself to attend the feast… Well, everyone would understand it. Even my lord father." He added the last words in a very strange voice.

From that Sansa realized this wasn't her husband's suggestion or a permission for the non-attendance but an order coming directly from Lord Tywin. Cersei and Joffrey wouldn't like that, undoubtedly, but even they didn't dare to go against the Hand's will. And Sansa… she didn't want, at all.

She stood in the Great Sept during the ceremony with lighter heart than before. She sang together with the ladies when she needed and her eyes were downcast for the prayers. Her thoughts, however, were elsewhere. She was musing over what it was like when Robb wed Lord Walder Frey's daughter at the Twins. She would have liked to be there.

In fact, she would have liked to be at any place where there was another Stark beside her. Even in the sweaty swamp of the Neck.

'But I'm not a Stark anymore,' she reminded herself.

The High Septon conjured the groom and the bride for the exchange of cloaks.

Margaery Tyrell looked beautiful. Joffrey at her side was a handsome monster. Sansa glanced at her own husband and decided that all things considered she had more luck.

The High Septon declared Margaery and Joffrey to be one flesh, one heart, one soul. There was only one thing left: the guests to offer congratulations to the king and his new queen. That was Sansa's last duty that day.

When they returned from Visenya's Hill to the Red Keep, she apologized to the Lannisters and Tyrells and closed herself in her bedchamber. At her door three gold cloaks and a white kept guard as they did since they heard about Ser Jaime's second capturing.

From down she could hear the bustle of servants, then the jangle of excited guests. Sansa sent Shae and Brella away. Shae wanted to see pigeons fly out of the pie. Surely, she would try to sneak in and peek into the spectacle and Sansa let her do it.

A clang of horns indicated the beginning of the feast. Tyrion arrived after about five dishes.

"A husband's place is at her wife's side. Especially when this wife is unwell."

It didn't surprise Sansa that he took advantage of her illness to escape earlier. If anything common existed in them, it was the loathing towards Joffrey.

She continued her embroidery. It was a large weirwood – and nothing more to anyone else. But if she looked at it, she would see the heart tree of Winterfell. It was a tiny rebellion, something that couldn't be compared to leading an army against the Lannisters, but that was all she could do.

Tyrion picked up a book and a candle and sat down at the small table next to the window. He couldn't leave her alone, even though Sansa didn't need his nursing or his company. After all, he escaped the feast with this excuse.

After an hour Sansa switched from the leaves to the weirwood's face. Meanwhile she remembered something that her lord husband talked about in the litter on their road back from Baelor's Sept. She didn't pay attention then, but now the words made her think.

"I have been thinking… before winter arrives, if the roads are safe enough again, we should travel to Casterly Rock."

She didn't know how she felt about that. Casterly Rock was the den of the lions, but the lions themselves lived here in King's Landing. Maybe it wouldn't be so bad. She could be far away from Joffrey, far away from Cersei. And she would remain unavailable, after all, Casterly Rock was considered an impregnable stronghold – so, maybe, Lord Tywin wouldn't protest. Because – though Tyrion didn't say it – their journey didn't depend on the roads or the upcoming winter but his father's will. And nowadays Lord Tywin's decisions depended on Robb's success or defeat.

And Robb…

Day by day Sansa was praying for his brother safe homecoming, although she knew what it meant that his army was marching to the North. Robb wouldn't come for her.

* * *

 _ **HAPPY NEW YEAR!**_


	5. Homecoming

**Sorry for the late update. This was a very busy month at work.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.**

 **And thank you very much for all the reviews.**

* * *

 _Still, she was struck again by how strangely men behaved when it came to their bastards. Ned had always been fiercely protective of Jon, and Ser Cortnay Penrose had given up his life for this Edric Storm, yet Roose Bolton's bastard had meant less to him than one of his dogs, to judge from the tone of the queer cold letter Edmure had gotten from him not three days past. […] "A fate he no doubt earned," Bolton had written. "Tainted blood is ever treacherous, and Ramsay's nature was sly, greedy, and cruel. I count myself well rid of him. The trueborn sons my young wife has promised me would never have been safe while he lived."_

 _/A Clash of Kings/_

* * *

 **V. Homecoming**

Though he couldn't complain about Lord Bolton's hospitality, Dreadfort weighed heavily on Robb's mind. The castle had a dark past and its present wasn't any better. Fire crackled in the fireplace, the food was delicious and the wine warmed him up, but all of that didn't matter until flags with Bolton's sigil were hanging on the walls. Robb was unable to look at the flayed man, because whenever he did, he remembered those poor souls whom they had found on the courtyard crucified. It was impossible to say who they were in their lives. Robb, however, was sure that they came from Winterfell. Earlier, Ramsay Snow had claimed that those, who survived the raging fire in Winterfell, accompanied him to Dreadfort. But when days earlier, the troops of Robb and Lord Bolton took the castle back from him, they were nowhere to be found. Neither the women, nor the children; and not even Little and Big Walder.

When Lord Bolton looked into the dead defenders' faces, he knew their names, he knew who stood behind the bastard and against their lord. When Robb looked into the faces of Ramsay's victims, into something that once their face was, he saw nothing but horror. But those men were his in their lives, so they belonged to him in their death, too.

There were a lot of dead, masses of them. And he upped their number even more, although what he did was called justice. Justice for Lady Hornwood. Justice for the people of Winterfell. Justice even for Theon Greyjoy.

Theon betrayed him – as a friend, as a brother, as a king –, he invaded and burned down his home. He took his little brothers hostage, then murdered them and violated their dead bodies. He deserved to die but not from the hands of Bolton's Bastard. Not from someone to whom Bran and Rickon or Theon himself meant nothing. And who meant nothing to Theon. Robb should have been the one who passed a sentence upon him, and he should have been who then executed it. He _wished_ things had happened that way.

But Ramsay deprived him of that. And Theon's injuries… There were rules, even in the times of war. Robb couldn't deny he imagined – hundreds of times – what he would do if he could stand in front of Theon, if he could have an opportunity… He imagined and he didn't know for sure whether he would be able to do those things. Just like he didn't know whether he would be able to stop himself. And it didn't matter anymore.

"Can I join you, Your Grace?" Roose Bolton stepped to his chair. His steps, if he wanted, were as silent as his words.

Robb had already been aware of his presence because Grey Wind – sitting by his feet – suddenly opened his eyes and raised his head, imperceptibly.

"We are under your roof, Lord Bolton."

"Not for long." He sat across him. "As I heard, you are going to Winterfell tomorrow. I would accompany you but I have a lot to do here."

Robb had too, in his own home. The castle had to be rebuilt and prepared to winter. The North as well.

"I need you in Dreadfort. Winter is coming." His father said that all the time and now Robb understood why.

"Winter serves for our benefit this time. If the snow falls, no one will start a campaign. You can consolidate your reign over the North and the Riverlands. And when spring comes…

When spring comes. Everyone predicted a long winter because summer was long too. When spring comes, King Tommen will have grown up and Robb has children and nieces or nephews in the South, little wolf pups called Lannister. Perhaps they couldn't fight a war if the world froze around them and the snow obstructed the roads, but the cold didn't stop the ravens. Where swords weren't enough, words could make a better service.

"I sent a message to the Twins yesterday. To my wife."

Lord Bolton nodded. "The place of the Queen in the North is in the North."

"Certainly, Lord Walder will give her Lady Walda as a company."

"My beloved wife!" Lord Bolton sighed. "I hope Lord Walder won't forget to send her dowery with them."

He obviously had a very good eye for money. Robb knew the story about Lord Walder's offer. The old man said he would pay the bride's weight in silver if the Lord of Dreadfort chose one of his daughters – and he did: he chose the fattest of all of them. Walda Frey's dowery and the one thousand golden dragons that Edmure promised for the Kingslayer were nice rewards, even separately.

Usually people hoped for wealth and power from a war. Roose Bolton had already gained the first one and the other… well, he could count on his king's gratitude.

Meanwhile, Lord Bolton continued his earlier thought. "Winter also gives me enough time to sire children and see them growing up."

It was something his mother would say to Robb.

"No matter what my son did, I mourn his death."

Robb mourned Theon Greyjoy as well. Or at least, he mourned the man he believed Theon Greyjoy was a long time ago.

But he didn't understand where Lord Bolton was going with this.

"I mourned him, but I am relieved. Terrible thing, I know. But what he did once, he could do again." He sighed. "Domeric… I doubt you remember him, my lord, he spent years far from here, in the Vale."

Robb nodded. "I know we have met." He had some faded memories about a feast and a quiet boy who played the harp for Lady Catelyn and Sansa, and was a better horseman than anyone in Winterfell.

"He brought Ramsay to Dreadfort because he wanted a brother. But bastards are…" He glanced at Robb and finished it differently. "You know, what people say."

They said, bastards, because they were conceived in sin – lie, treason and lust –, were sinners themselves, too, dishonest and trucebreakers. Robb, however, never believed in that and he made that clear when he named Jon as his heir without the knowledge of his real parentage. And the lords accepted his decision, but – as Roose Bolton made him realize – he would have to make sure that they accept Jon himself.

He didn't reply. He was curious how Lord Bolton would continue.

"I have no doubt, of course, your brother is different, Your Grace." He smiled carefully. "But he grew up together with you, so he learnt what it meant to be a brother before he would have learnt what it meant to be a bastard. Ramsay, however… Well, he was rotten as ten others, I guess. He didn't see the brother in Domeric, only the obstacle between him and all of those things I could pass down to a son.

"Are you sure that Ramsay was responsible for his death?" Robb asked.

The Lord of Dreadfort replied after a long silence. "I have never doubted."

Justice for Domeric Bolton.

* * *

Catelyn was watching Arya from the same place she stood a long time ago when her sons were practicing with swords and bows following Ser Rodrik's instructions.

Arya didn't have a master. Every now and then Brienne joined her and taught her, but she couldn't help in what Arya did at the moment. It was an ethereal set of movements; graceful and fluent… and lethal if the swordsman was skillful enough. Arya called it the water dance of the bravos and she added, in a hurry, when Catelyn caught her in the chamber of Greywater Watch covered in spider webs:

"Father allowed it. He found Syrio for me."

Catelyn didn't want to forbid. With time, Arya had to become a proper lady – now, because they didn't have a septa, she was taught by Catelyn herself –, but if she hadn't had the sword and that Syrio who had showed her how she could use it, Catelyn may have never gotten her back.

"Your father made the sword forged as well?" She asked while they walked together to Arya's bedchamber. "In King's Landing?"

"No."

Catelyn thought she had to settle for that laconic answer, but then Arya took a deep breath and continued: "Needle was made in Winterfell."

She stopped – Catelyn did as well – and picked up the sword to show its hilt. Some graved mark was there. Catelyn wouldn't have recognized it, but since Arya disclosed where the sword came from, she did know what to look for.

"Mikken's work."

"Yes."

"Mikken wouldn't have forged a weapon for a little girl."

Arya nodded in agreement. "Not for a little girl."

And if it wasn't Ned who asked him to do that, only one of the boys could have been. Catelyn found out, easily, which one. She didn't have any more questions.

By now she became good enough in deciding who was a well-trained swordsman, according to the standards of Westeros, and who was an unerring archer, but she didn't know the first thing about Arya's water dance. Her movements seemed accurate and natural, Catelyn, however, was often wondering how much they would be worth in real danger and whether her daughter had any opportunity to try it.

Robb appeared in the courtyard from the direction of the godswood. He stopped for some minutes to watch Arya before he kept on hurrying to the entrance of the castle. He had a lot to do, but only a few men to help him in them. They wrote to the Citadel for a new maester and Lady Cerwyn had promised she would send her own to Winterfell until then. However, while they were waiting for that, every charge, a maester would have taken over, rested on the king's shoulders. They did not have a steward either, because Robb hadn't found a man yet whom he would have appointed for the post light-heartedly, besides, he would have liked to know all matters concerning Winterfell before he would put them in someone else's hands. They needed a castellan too – as soon as possible –, because Robb couldn't be the Lord of Winterfell and the King in the North at the same time. He had neither enough time, nor enough strength for that. If he had yet to accept this, Catelyn knew it well and was willing to do everything to help her son. She wanted to look after her children, at least the two of them she could reach.

Sansa wasn't mentioned by any news or rumors coming from the south. Which meant, according to Robb, that she was fine.

"No doubt that Tywin Lannister guards her as strictly as I do with the Kingslayer. Or…" he corrected to calm Catelyn down, "maybe not exactly 'as strictly'."

Robb wanted to have Jaime Lannister brought through the Neck.

"It's better if the Kingslayer is in the North instead of a southern castle Lord Tywin could besiege before the winter."

However, the citizens of King's Landing only paid attention to the case of Joffrey's death. On the same day that Robb's armies stormed Moat Cailin, a wedding was celebrated in the Red Keep. Margaery Tyrell, whom Catelyn had met as Renly's queen, wedded to Joffrey and widowed – again – that night.

Nowadays, messages arrived at the North slowly, and the news were vague, but they revealed that the king became a victim of poisoning and Oberyn Martell was suspected with it.

"It's not surprising," Catelyn remarked. "That man has a terrible reputation."

"Deterrent," Robb added. "The Red Viper of Dorne. And they need to handle him as carefully as if he were a real viper. Unless they want to unleash a war."

Of course, for them it would have been quite beneficial if the Lannisters were tied up in Dorne. But those in King's Landing knew very well that they would put Princess Myrcella's life in danger with one single unconsidered step. Obviously, the lions were thirsty for revenge – like they were after Ned –, but was it worth to avenge Joffrey's death _at any prize_?

* * *

Robb liked spending his time in the godswood since they he had returned to Winterfell, though he rarely had an opportunity to go there and it was even rarer that he got to stay there for long. Yet… The godswood was the only thing that remained the same from the home that lived in his memories. Here, he could believe that Winterfell still existed, they just had to rebuild it.

It never would be the same, of course. Stones, trees, glasses were replaceable. Instead of the ruined walls, they could build stronger ones. But those who were lost… there was nothing that could bring them back. Others would come, new people who could become as kind to Robb and his mother and Arya as their predecessors. But that couldn't annul the losses, the absence of old faces and old voices.

Robb knelt before the weirwood, hoping the tales were true and the First Men's gods watched him through the eyes of the tree. And because they were gods, they could see through time as well; and they could see his father praying at that same place, see his grandfather and several Starks before them – and similarly, they could see those who would come after him. He hoped it was true. He hoped the future he wanted to build existed and the gods found pleasure in it. Because if they did, he could count on their support.

Later, he walked around Winterfell to check how the clearing of the towers' ruins were moving along. Most of the stones were usable, but he wanted to have some more transported from the quarries to strengthen the buildings and walls. Work had already begun in the woods, the first wagons with the cut and cleaned logs arrived that morrow. He had to have glasses brought too if he wanted to get the glass gardens reconstructed. But higher cost needed to be paid for that, besides, they could wait with that.

He stopped in the courtyard and looked at the strawman Arya prodded yesterday. He envied his sister. As he watched Arya's dancing movements, he remembered the old days when Jon and Theon and he had drubbed each other in the quickly melting summer snow. If he could have, he would have grabbed a sword… If only he were alone… But he was a king now with a king's duties. A whole lot of duties.

And these current ones proved to be much more difficult than battles.

"I feared the fight most of all," he confessed to his mother. "Raising a real sword against a real enemy. Then I realized I was actually good at it. But this… this is politics. Politics is an unfamiliar area to me."

Mother took his fisted hand and gripped it; she intended it to be for encouragement. "You will learn how to do it."

"Learning is time. And I don't know how much time I have."

Lord Bolton was right: winter would give them reprieve, all of them. It would be enough, perhaps, for the coming spring to greet a new world. But before that, they had a lot of things to do. Fights where words were the weapons – because the time for those battles that Robb liked, the ones where he had to wield a sword instead of a pen, had passed. At least, for now. The part of his army (Clegane included), that was sent to the west after the crossing of the Neck, drove out the iron men from the Stony Shore, then laid siege to Deepwood Motte. It wouldn't take long to have Asha Greyjoy surrender as well.

Robb looked around once again. And then again, because he found something odd. But he didn't realize what it was.

It seemed everything was alright, everything was the way it was supposed to be. Maybe… maybe his imagination played a trick on him. After all, he slept little enough to dream awake now.

He took a last, confused look at the gate, and then he noticed it. Or rather he realized whom he saw.

"Jon!"

He would have realized earlier, but after he evoked the ghosts of the past, it seemed so natural that one of them would embody itself before him; that his brother, who belonged to Winterfell just like Robb himself, was here with him. As if they never separated, as if it no time passed since then. Robb remembered that he had promised that day they would met again soon.

"I thought you didn't even recognize me, Stark. I mean, Your Grace." Jon was smiling, but there was far more than happiness in his smile. Emotions that Robb couldn't name.

He grabbed his brother's clothes (he didn't even realize when he walked up to him), then he pulled Jon to himself and hugged him. Jon reciprocated his greeting with equal vehemence.

"I was about to kneel," he said then. "The Wall is a rough place for rough men, but I didn't forget it was the custom to do so before kings."

"They released you." Robb felt silly.

"Rather bundled me off. But it's a long story."

Robb had his own long story as well. He thought he would tell Jon, maybe – everything that happened. But they would have time for that.

"Come, Arya will leap from joy when she sees you." He went to the entrance, but Jon reached out, and grabbing his arm he stopped him.

"Your Grace."

"Between ourselves you don't need to call me that, you know."

"I know," Jon nodded. "Your Grace, I just would like to… thank you."

Not Winterfell, or the promise of the crown, rather his brother's intention to give those to him. Robb knew that was more important to Jon than any title or land could have ever been. Just like it was important to him that he could be a Stark and his brother needed him.

That only proved he made a good decision.

* * *

Catelyn watched Arya who was hanging on his half-brother – 'Cousin!' – for minutes, giving time for her to prepare for greeting Sn– Jon.

Decency would have demanded the boy to greet her first. Maybe he would have done that, no matter how close he and Arya were and how distant his relationship with Catelyn was. He was taught to good manners, after all, and especially near her, he was always careful to behave politely (and be unnoticed). Arya, however, broke the rules with pleasure.

When Robb walked in the Great Hall of Winterfell, accompanied by Sn– Jon, Arya, who, until then, had been answering her questions about northern houses dutifully, screamed 'Jon!' and jumped over the table. Seeing that, Catelyn hissed, though recently she had turned a blind eye to a lot of things for her daughter.

Finally, Jon put Arya down and messed up her hair. But then he pulled his hand back quickly. He was surprised, because Arya grew a lot since he had last seen her – or because her hair was pretty and neat. At least, it had been.

After that, the boy turned to her and bowed his head. "Lady Stark."

Catelyn replied reservedly. "Welcome to Winterfell."

This was the gods's joke.

* * *

Jon Snow was as tight-lipped about his experiences on the Wall and beyond that as Robb when words went to his time in the Westerlands or as Arya when she was asked about her wandering. Catelyn presumed her presence made him pull back, or he just didn't want to frighten his sister. But if he could talk to Robb in private, he would find his voice.

Until then, he spoke about his days in Castle Black. Days which, according to his stories, were hard but not much different to the life in Winterfell – that is why Catelyn didn't believe him –, after that, he began to parrot Old Nan's tales about giants and the Horn of Winter. These, Catelyn believed even less.

"And you, little sister? How do you handle the Needle nowadays?"

His smile was conspiratorial. He couldn't know that Catelyn got acquainted with Needle.

With pride, Arya straightened her back. "Better and better. I practice a lot. And I learnt to dance as well."

Sn– Jon raised his eyebrows. Catelyn understood that too, while he didn't, he must have suspected this wasn't the kind of dance that belonged in ballrooms.

During dinner, Catelyn had the chance to study the boy. He changed since she had last seen him. He grew up just like Robb did and wore the traces of his battles. But still, he was so similar – spookily similar – to Ned, more than Arya. In fact, he was similar to Lyanna, obviously. Despite that, the resemblance bothered her more than ever.

"That's not the sword you took with you to Castle black, is it?" Arya asked suddenly, interrupting his brother who was talking to Jon about the Whispering Wood.

Catelyn and Robb glanced to the sword simultaneously. She only had a little knowledge of weapons but even she could see that the sword was longer than the ones the boys used when Jon Snow left Winterfell. The pommel was carved from some pale stone and it formed a direwolf with red eyes – garnet-eyes maybe. 'Ghost.'

Up until now Catelyn concentrated on Snow – 'Jon! _Jon._ ' – and Robb apparently did the same, but still, it wasn't a miracle that Arya noticed the strange weapon first.

"No. This is Longclaw." Jon picked up the sword and unsheathed it.

The dark blade was shining in the candlelight revealing the ripples in the steel. They showed that the metal had been folded back on itself again and again, many thousands of times, while it had been forged in dragons' fire to make it strong and sharp forever. Ice was the same. Valyrian steel.

Robb saw it enough times by his father to recognize.

"How…?"

"Lord Mormont owned it."

'The sword of House Mormont?' Catelyn didn't know what her face looked like when that thought ran through her mind, but the boy addressed his next words to her after that, almost apologetically.

"I… did some service to the Lord Commander."

"It must have been a great service." Robb remarked.

Jon nodded, curtly, but he didn't disclose further details. "He wanted to give it to his son, but… Lord Mormont said he became unworthy of it."

Jorah Mormont. Catelyn remembered him, just like she remembered what he had done and how he had escaped to Essos from Ned – and from Ice.

"Do you know what happened with Ice?" Robb asked.

"The Lannisters kept it, I suppose."

"They beheaded Father with it." Arya spoke up grimly, staring at the table.

She stunned not only Jon, but Robb and her mother, too.

"Were you there?"

"Did you see?"

They raised their questions at the same time. Arya replied to Robb first. "I was there. But I didn't see. Yoren didn't allow me to watch."

Robb and Catelyn had already heard about Yoren. Arya began to explain it to Jon as well, before any of them could have asked more about her father's beheading. Soon after that, she said good night and went to bed. Or she told them that, at least. However, Catelyn suspected she was too excited and upset for sleeping. She took a mental note to look in on her later. But before that…

"Now that Arya left, you can tell us the truth."

Jon looked at her, straight into her eyes – for the first time since he had greeted her. "I told you the truth, Lady Stark."

"About giants and the Horn of Winter?"

The boy's eyes clouded. "I heard about a horn that the wildlings called the Horn of Winter. I don't know whether it was really that. In the tunnel, which leads to beyond the Wall, there still might be the body of the giant who killed Donal Noye. This one," he showed the scars on his face, "I got from a warg's eagle. My hand I burnt when dead men attacked Lord Mormont. My friend, Sam is called Slayer, because he said he killed a White Walker and I believe him." His voice became more and more impetuous but he didn't seem to realize it until he ended his speech. He glanced from Catelyn to Robb, then back at her, and cleared his throat. "Your Grace, Lady Stark, excuse me. The journey was long from Castle Black."

Expectantly, he looked at Robb who finally fought back his amazement long enough to manage a nod.

Jon stood up and left the hall.


	6. Dark wings, dark shadows

**Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.**

 **And thank you very much for all the reviews.**

* * *

 _"He was laughing one moment, and suddenly the blood was everywhere... my lady, I do not understand. Did you see, did you...?"_

 _"I saw a shadow. I thought it was Renly's shadow at the first, but it was his brother's."_

 _"Lord Stannis?"_

 _"I felt him. It makes no sense, I know."_

 _It made sense enough for Brienne. "I will kill him," the tall homely girl declared. "With my lord's own sword, I will kill him. I swear it. I swear it. I swear it."_

/A Clash of Kings/

* * *

 **Dark wings, dark shadows**

He was searching for his father in the carved stone-face but the statue – even if its features were similar to the once living man's – couldn't really mirror Eddard Stark.

There were so many things Jon wanted to say. He wanted to apologize, because he wasn't a good son to him, not good enough, because he didn't accompany Robb to the south, and because he did want to do it, and because – in the end – he left the Night's Watch as a traitor, anyway. He wanted to tell him everything that happened with him since he rode to the Wall with Uncle Benjen. Every dishonor and every horror, every good and every impossible. He thought confessing them to his father will make it easier to talk with his brother.

But now that he stood before the statue of Eddard Stark, he found himself unable to speak. Hours passed – he felt it, though he was used to bear the coldness and inactivity after so many watches – and he couldn't even utter a single word.

His father couldn't forgive him. Maybe he wouldn't have anyhow.

But it was good that he hadn't frozen to death in an ice cell or that he hadn't got a noose around his neck. He could prove he lived up to his name and was worthy of his brother's trust. And – more importantly – he could help the North survive the winter.

He turned to leave but a quavering light was approaching in the corridor of the crypts. It was a torch, one held by… Lady Stark, of course. The pounding of her steps echoed beneath the vaults.

"Robb has been looking for you." Her voice sounded reproachful and she was right. Jon's place was by his king's side.

"I have stayed too long."

He wanted to go but Lady Stark stopped in his way, before the statue of Lyanna Stark. Jon remembered the last time when they were together, only the two of them face to face by Bran's sick-bed. Lady Stark had said that Jon should have fallen out the tower and crippled himself.

"Do you know her story?" She raised the torch higher so its flames lighted the delicately carved stone-face which was so similar to Arya's. At least, some people said so. Jon couldn't judge it. His sister was much younger than Lady Lyanna at the time of her death. Though both of them undoubtedly inherited the Starks' features.

"Just as little as it was spoken about her here." People in Winterfell had loved Lyanna like they had loved her brother, Brandon and their father, Lord Rickard. And because they had loved them, they rarely mentioned any of them after the tragic end of their lives.

"My husband never told you?"

My husband and not your father. It was clearly an insult.

Jon shook his head.

Lady Stark gave a small sigh. "Neither me. But recently, when we crossed the Neck, Lord Reed shared the story with us. You should hear it as well. Someday."

Jon didn't know how to answer that.

"As you wish, my lady."

Lady Stark nodded and stepped aside, so Jon could get by her.

* * *

"This letter from Maester Aemon arrived today." Robb slapped a piece of paper onto the table before Jon, but he didn't reach for it. He knew that whatever was written in the message Robb would tell him anyway. "Stannis Baratheon appeared at the Wall and defeated Mance Rayder's armies."

He could not have said more shocking news.

"Stannis Baratheon?" Jon scowled. "But… he fights for the iron throne, doesn't he?"

"Not anymore, it seems. Or if he does, he does it in a detour. He called himself the Lord of Light's Champion and he declared that he was the Azor Ahai Reborn. Whatever that means."

Now, Jon took the letter in his hand and skimmed through it. "He wants a war against the Others."

"Yes." Robb lividly began to pace from wall to wall. "Despite that, he expects me to go to him and bend the knee. Maester Aemon", he gestured to the letter, "warns me that Stannis himself will write soon. He wants to save the realm, it's true, but only for he can rule it. And he would start here, in the North."

Ridiculous, that was Jon's first thought. Robb was the King in the North and of the Trident. A chosen king, by the people's will. Hardly anyone supported Stannis. Even the majority of Stormlands's noblemen followed his younger brother instead of him. And after the Blackwater, he only had Storm's End and Dragonstone, and now, he abandoned those too.

The northerners decided against him at Riverrun when they gave a crown to Robb for whom they fought a war. They stood by him even after it seemed he had lost the North. They wouldn't kneel to a southerner pretender and Robb wouldn't betray them doing so in their name.

Anyway, what did Stannis have apart from some questionable claims? The North, perhaps, wasn't the most powerful region of Westeros, in a military sense, especially after the battles of the last two years, but they could gather a larger army than the one Stannis had.

And above all, to them the North was home. To Stannis it was a foreign land where he will hardly be able to get footing.

Finally, Robb calmed down enough to end his angry walk and take a sit across Jon. "You know, my mother was there in the tent when Renly died. Some say she murdered him, according to others Lady Brienne did it. I heard that the Knight of Flowers accused her too and swore to avenge… But the truth is that Renly was killed by dark magic. A shadow materialized in the tent. A shadow with Stannis' face that cut through his gorget, opening his throat." He looked at Jon. "Do you believe it?"

"I was beyond the Wall, Robb. I would believe more impossible stories than that."

Robb smiled. "We will have to speak about that once we have solved this problem."

Since Jon's outburst they didn't bring up what happened beyond the Wall. Jon himself wasn't in a hurry to do it. First, he would have liked to know more about his brother's plans, to see clearly what he could expect and then to plot accordingly. He had to convince Robb – no matter what his intentions were – to turn his attention to the North instead of the south. However, Robb had to consolidate his rule and only after that he could help to defend the Wall or could think of defending the Wall.

"Mother told me something else too." Robb continued. "She attended the parley of the Baratheons outside Storm's End and she saw a red priestess there who said farewell to Renly with these words: 'Look to your own sins!' Or something like that. It seemed a simple threat and Renly, I guess, didn't take it seriously at all. But considering how his life ended just a few hours later…" He swayed his head, then he added: "That woman's god wishes for human sacrifice and it's rumored that Stannis is giving it to him."

Jon tried to digest what he had heard. The sudden appearance of Stannis Baratheon and everything he brought with himself was a problem he didn't reckon with. Neither Robb, it seemed.

His brother began to speak again. "Even if he is the rightful heir to the iron throne…"

"Is he?"

Robb shrugged. "Jaime Lannister admitted he was the father of his sister's three children. This supports Stannis' demand but… how would I accept such a man as my king? A fratricide who would scorch the godswoods and put anyone on pyre who dares to protest against it. How could I expect from anyone to serve him?"

Jon didn't think for a split second that Robb would even take into consideration what, according to Maester Aemon, Stannis expected from him. But he noticed something else in his words. Robb said he wouldn't accept Stannis not only as his own king, but neither as the king. But if Stannis wasn't going to be the one gaining the iron throne, then… At the moment, Robb didn't wage war on the Lannisters, but they made this neither official nor permanent through any pact.

"And would you be able to accept it if they served the Lannisters?"

His brother replied as carefully as Jon asked the question. "Joffrey had our father executed, but he is already dead. The Kingslayer pushed Bran out of the window of the Broken Tower, but he is my prisoner and through Sansa's marriage…"

"Do you want to make peace?"

Robb didn't give a straight answer. "When I was crowned at Riverrun, Lord Karstark said we could make peace with the iron throne on that term. We didn't agree with him in many things after that, but I think he was right in this. We need become an independent kingdom like we were before the Conquest. Obviously, Lord Tywin won't like it, but if he can keep his grandson on the throne thanks to us… Anyway, we have to deal with Stannis first."

* * *

His mother had a very strong opinion on the subject.

"You can't go near Stannis."

Robb remembered that conversation all too well when Catelyn told him how Renly really died on the eve of the battle. Later, he questioned Brienne about it, because he thought she might know more, she might have noticed something else that his mother overlooked. But, on the whole, Lady Catelyn turned out to be the more trustworthy source.

Robb didn't doubt her words – after all he shared with Jon what she said –, but he thought it wouldn't harm if he reminded his mother of that. And if he showed her how thin the line was between the stories about murdering shadows and the stories about bloodthirsty dead men.

"So, what Jon says about the wights is just tale for children, but the shadow that killed Renly is real?"

Catelyn's eyes widened. She drew the air sharply in as if she were ready to snap 'yes'. In the end she didn't. She bowed her head. "You are right. But if you believe your… brother, you have to believe me. You must not go to Stannis!"

"I will go!" Jon stepped forward.

Robb wanted to send him anyway, but he also anticipated that Jon would volunteer, so he gave him the opportunity. Jon – even if he couldn't handle Stannis – could gather information from the black brothers. After all, he said he still had friends among them. He could have access to information they wouldn't share with other men.

Besides that, his envoy had to be an important person and Jon was that. Robb himself ensured that.

"I'm sorry that you have just arrived here, and now I have to send you back."

"I will go too." His mother announced. "I have already negotiated with Stannis Baratheon and I have met the red witch who is serving him. None of them can deny their sins before me, because I saw with my own eyes when they committed them."

Robb was loath to let her go to Castle Black, but he had to admit that Jon would need someone who knew how to treat men like Stannis. And a journey together maybe – just maybe – would help to soften the tension between his mother and Jon. It was up to her, mainly. And if she got used to not seeing his husband's bastard in Jon, she would easily find an occasion for talking. Robb hoped for an outcome like that.

"Will you bring Lady Brienne?"

His mother shook her head. "Brienne stays here. She took an oath that she would kill Stannis and I vowed I wouldn't stand in her way. But for now, we intend to speak, not fight. And for that, a sword stabbed in the heart would be a very bad start. Nonetheless a sword stabbed in a fiery heart."

Not that any of them would mind it. However, Lady Catelyn didn't say that aloud. She asked instead. "What are your terms?"

Robb considered it. "I doubt I can ask for something that Stannis Baratheon would grant me… I suppose, it would be in vain to expect from him to give up his claim for the throne, and if he is already on the Wall, to take the black."

"If he admits… if he _believe_ s that he is guilty and if he still has honor…" Her voice was unsure and hesitant. Even she didn't take seriously what she said.

"He'll break before he bends." Jon spoke out and when both of them looked at him – Robb was curious, her mother ready to put him in his place –, he shrugged. "At least, Donal Noye thought that about him, and he knew Stannis when Stannis was a boy."

Robb nodded. "I will send a message to Galbart Glover and Lord Bolton. If he needs to be broken, we will be ready to do it."

* * *

Lady Stark went to begin the arrangements for their journey. Jon, however, didn't move, just turned to Robb with light astonishment.

"Do you really believe me?"

"I do believe because you say it."

This was both more and less than what Jon expected from Robb. Nevertheless it was a good start.

Jon wanted to leave the talk about the wildlings for later, to wait with it until Robb could turn his full attention and power to that. Though he had thought, this would be in the near future. But now there was a new threat and he would return to the Wall. He decided.

"Good, because we have to discuss something."

The tension was apparent in his voice. He stirred Robb's curiosity, at least. His brother filled up two cups with wine and gestured him to sit beside the fire.

Jon took the cup but he didn't drink it, instead he watched how the light of the flames was shining on the surface of the wine.

"A hundred thousand wildlings camped at the Wall when I left Castle Black." He began finally. "Many of them are women or children or too old to battle. They don't know how to fight like an army. No doubt, a part of them – a grand part – ran away when Stannis Baratheon's knights attacked them, but… They are desperate because they are fleeing and the Watch isn't strong enough to stop them. Not even with those southerner soldiers."

"So, according to you, it's only a matter of time before they break through the Wall?"

Jon didn't answer, directly. "When the winter arrives, they will fight. Living on this side of the Wall, or dead on the other. If I tell you the truth, where would you like to know those hundred thousand wildlings?"

"If the winter, that you are mentioning, arrives, I would like to know them south from the Wall." Robb stared at the flames. He forgot about the cup in his hand. "We don't speak about them breaking through the Wall. We speak about them _passing_ through the Wall."

Jon nodded.

"We have been fighting for thousands of years to hold them north from the Wall."

"But the Wall wasn't built against them."

Robb looked at him. "It was built against monsters of scary tales. Against creatures no one has seen for generations and most people won't believe in their existence until they see them with their own eyes." He grimaced. "I don't doubt your words, but even for me, it would be simpler if I could meet one."

Jon understood him very well. Robb could decide to believe him – although he has not understood the weight of the situation yet –, but as king he was responsible for the entire North. He had to care about his people's opinions and fears. Jon himself wasn't pleased with the idea that men like Rattleshirt and Varamyr streamed to the lands south from the Wall. But he knew that was the good choice, that was the right one.

He tried to make it easier for his brother.

"Sixteen of the castles of the Wall have been standing empty for many years. Perhaps, some of them should be rebuilt entirely, but some are still habitable. And defensible." Since Robb didn't say anything, he continued: "The Gifts of Brandon and Queen Alysanne were made to supply the Night's Watch, but their fields have hardly been tended."

"And you say the wildlings would do it? Would they defend the Wall? Would they tend the fields?"

"I lived with them for a while. I know them better than anyone south from the Wall." Before Ygritte's mocking voice could have warned him, he added: "Even if that means a very small knowledge."

"So?"

"So there would be some who would do it. Not all of them."

"But the Watch disposes of the castles, not me." Robb said, worriedly. "I have some say in the matter of the Gifts, though I doubt they would be particularly happy about such a suggestion."

He was right, Jon knew that as well. However, the Watch had already done the King in the North a favor, recently. And there were men among them who saw what he saw; in fact more than that at the Fist of the First Men. Maybe they saw enough to act wisely. Of course, the question was whom they elected Lord Commander. Have they already elected someone? Jon assumed they haven't. The name of the new Lord Commander would be almost as important as Stannis Baratheon's appearance. Maester Aemon wouldn't have left such information out of his letter.

"If the wildlings accept our terms, if the Watch agrees to hand over the castles and allows them to settle down on the Gifts, if you can get all of that across to the North…" There were a lot of 'ifs' and 'maybes' which made Jon uncertain.

"Then?"

Yet, he asked. "Would you be willing to let them pass through the Wall?"

Robb remained silent for a long time. "I would."


	7. Old stories

**Sorry for this extremely late update. These few months have been very busy.**

* * *

 _Suddenly Arya remembered the crypts at Winterfell. […] She'd been just a little girl the first time she saw them. Her brother Robb had taken them down, her and Sansa and baby Bran, who'd been no bigger than Rickon was now. […]_

 _Old Nan had told her there were spiders down here, and rats as big as dogs. Robb smiled when she said that. "There are worse things than spiders and rats," he whispered. "This is where the dead walk." That was when they heard the sound, low and deep and shivery. Baby Bran had clutched at Arya's hand._

 _When the spirit stepped out of the open tomb, pale white and moaning for blood, Sansa ran shrieking for the stairs, and Bran wrapped himself around Robb's leg, sobbing. Arya stood her ground and gave the spirit a punch. It was only Jon, covered with flour. "You stupid," she told him, "you scared the baby," but Jon and Robb just laughed and laughed, and pretty soon Bran and Arya were laughing too._

/A Game of Thrones/

* * *

 **VII. Old stories**

"If a battle comes, my son will take you along, and your oath can be fulfilled. You have my word. But now, I need you here, because if something happens to me, there must remain a witness who knows what we saw in that tent, you and I."

Brienne of Tarth bowed her head, with reluctant acceptance and stepped aside, so Catelyn could get on her horse.

Jon Snow and Robb stepped out of the castle together, with Grey Wind in their heel. They talked in a low voice, surely about what would wait them for on the road to the Wall and at the Wall.

The raven flew to Castle Black yesterday morning to inform them of their arrival, though the journey would take more than two weeks, even under the most fortunate conditions. And with the winter looming over them, they could hardly have those conditions.

It had been snowing since sunrise in tiny but more and more rapid flakes. Catelyn studied the sky, it was plain grey as far as she could see, not showing any sign of an approaching storm.

Robb gave fifty soldiers as entourage, and now all of them were sitting in their saddle.

Catelyn watched how her son said farewell to Jon. The two of them had already done that inside the castle, so while Robb didn't come to her now, Catelyn still felt his gaze on herself, all along, while their troop walked out the gates of Winterfell.

Grey Wind followed them through the courtyard. Catelyn's horse was used to him, but some of the others became nervous near the direwolf and tried to stay away from him. The truth to be told, Catelyn wouldn't have minded if a direwolf accompanied them to the Wall and stood by their side when they had to come face to face with Stannis and the red witch. Not this direwolf, of course, his place was here with Robb.

But there wasn't another one. Ghost – as Jon said – had disappeared beyond the Wall. Nymeria was tramping somewhere in the Riverlands, if she was still alive. And Summer and Shaggydog… they died, together with her little sons.

* * *

When they reached the Kingsroad, some miles from Winterfell, Jon reined up his horse, by the stone which signed the Wall northward and Castle Cerwyn to the south – though the writing became unreadable during the decades.

Lady Catelyn drove her horse to him.

"What is it, Sn– Jon?"

Her voice didn't sound as impatient as Jon came to expect from her. And there were many, many days before them, days they would have to spend together. For that, instead of saying 'Nothing, my lady' and moving on, Jon told her the truth:

"I've just remembered the time I went to the Wall the first time. We had left Winterfell with the royal party and our ways separated here. I bid farewell to my fa– Lord Eddard here. I talked to him last here.

He would have had every right to call Eddard Stark his father. But she overcame herself and didn't offend him using his bastard name, so Jon decided he would be considerate as well.

"I knew long years would be gone until I could see him again. But I never imagined, not even in my nightmares, that it was… was our last conversation."

It seemed that Lady Catelyn wouldn't reply to that, yet she spoke up:

"I felt like I lost him forever, both times we said farewell. First in Winterfell, when he left me behind, even though I was the one insisting that he should go with Robert. Then in the south, in King's Landing, when I left him there. I did feel it, but I didn't want to believe it neither then, nor after, when it turned out I was right."

Last time Lady Stark spoke that way in his presence, Jon tried to offer her some words of comfort. But it didn't end well. And Lady Stark made it clear that Jon's opinion was irrelevant in the matters of her conscience.

He didn't risk it this time.

* * *

Robb found his sister on the castle wall. Arya stared at the distance where their men rode through the hills, further she could see. They had left quite some time ago, the snow already covering their tracks. However, Arya didn't show any intention to abandon her lookout post.

She seemed sulky, or rather devastated. And entirely lost in her thoughts. She didn't even notice him until Robb touched her shoulder. Arya winced, then she began to shiver as if suddenly she remembered how cold it was up there.

"I wanted to talk to him," she said. "To Jon."

"You will talk, when he returns."

Arya sighed and shook her head. "Not like that… Not now. I wanted to tell him something since he arrived at Winterfell. But I was afraid if he came to became aware of it, he would want to leave… Then he left, anyway," she added in a sour voice. "Earlier, when I didn't believe we would meet again, I was thinking about writing to him if I ended up at a place where I could."

"Is it so important?"

"It would be to Jon. I know who his mother is."

Impossible. Arya didn't eavesdrop that night in Greywater Watch. Because if she had, she would have known that Robb knew it too. Their mother didn't share it with her either. She didn't even tell Jon, after all. Besides, she wouldn't have entrusted Arya with such a secret.

Above all of that, Robb had no reason to doubt Howland Reed's word. And he said that no one, save for himself, knew the whole truth. So, what Arya thought of had to be something else. Perhaps that hearsay about Ashara Dayne, the same that took wing in Winterfell once. Or another rumor that was spread in the south and never reached Winterfell.

"Who?"

Arya looked at him as if she pondered whether she could reveal that secret to him.

Robb smiled. "I can command you to tell me."

She grimaced. "You don't have to. Now that I've begun, you can hear the whole thing."

"How generous of you."

"Ladies are generous," Arya replied with decorum, then she frowned. "When the Lighting Lord's men caught Gendry, Hot Pie and me, I met Harwin."

Robb remembered that. When Arya mentioned his name for the first time, he was glad that someone from his father's company was still alive, because he had left King's Landing before King Robert's death. It was less joyful news that Harwin became an outlaw. Even if Harwin himself believed that on Beric Dondarrion's side he was serving an honorable purpose.

"I had to reveal myself, and after that everyone knew I was Arya Stark. They wanted to bring me to you to Riverrun, but then…" Arya shook her head and returned to a previous point of her story. "Lord Beric had a squire. Edric Dayne from Starfall. He asked me about Jon and he said they were milk brothers, because when he was little, Jon's mother nursed him."

Wylla. She spoke about Wylla.

"Her name is Wylla. And she still lives in Dorne. Or… when Ned left Starfall, she lived there."

Robb remembered the last night he spent in Greywater Watch.

"There is a woman in Dorne," Lord Reed told him. "She was Lady Lyanna's maid and she helped her give birth. But what came after, she was as powerless against as the guards or Ned and I."

Storm was raving that night above the swamp. The rumbling sky was slashed by lightings. Moaning, trees were swaying in the wind.

The departure of the troop was planned for dawn, so the morning after they could reach the Moat. Robb was interested in the tomorrow more than in the long gone past, but upon hearing that, he jerked his head up.

"So she knows the story you shared with us."

"Most of it but not everything. Your aunt preferred to keep it to herself what was hidden in her mind and in her heart. And Wylla, though served her, was loyal to the Targaryens, only to them. Before we went to Starfall, she took an oath, a much more severe oath than Ned and I had taken, that she would hold the secret. But not for me or for your father…"

"For Jon."

"For Jon," Lord Reed nodded.

"I heard about Wylla," Robb admitted to Arya. "But Edric Dayne was wrong, she is not Jon's birth mother."

"Are you sure?"

"Yes, I'm sure."

Arya seemed disappointed. "Oh, well… It's good then that I didn't tell him about her." But she must have sensed that Robb was confident in the matter for a reason, because she asked: "Do you know who is it?"

"I do."

"So Jon knows, too?"

"I hope he will, when he returns."

"Would you tell me?"

Robb smiled at her. Arya huffed, irritably.

"Jon will tell you." He turned to climb the stairs, but he took only one step. He waited whether Arya joined him.

Arya glanced at the hills veiled by the winter gloom, then she followed him.

"Would you tell me about your battles?" she asked while they left the castle wall.

"If you tell me something without concealing anything," Robb replied with a sudden idea.

It wasn't hard to agree to it. After all, Arya wanted to hear war stories, not what happened out on the battlefields. Their mother, certainly, would have disapproved of telling those kinds of things, because they weren't fit for a little girl's ears. But they couldn't have known – none of them – what Arya went through. And Robb didn't want to miss out on the chance to find out, at least a part of it.

He didn't urge his sister or tried to persuade her. He allowed her to think his offer over.

As they reached the courtyard, Arya made her decision.

"What was it like? The Whispering Wood? Was that your first battle, wasn't it? The first real one?" she sputtered with one breath, almost feverishly.

Robb frowned. "I have already told about it when Jon arrived."

"But not everything!" Arya protested. "Tell me what you couldn't tell us by the table."

"After I tell, can I choose what I would like to hear about?"

The fresh snow didn't crackle under her steps anymore. Robb stopped as well and watched as his sister was fighting with herself, until, after some time, she came to a decision.

"I must say yes, I guess."

"You must, or there is no deal."

Moments passed again – mutely and grievously –, then Arya spoke up: "Fine."

"Good."

And Robb told her everything. Those things too that otherwise he wouldn't have spoken about, but Arya asked him to. Not only he described the battles in great detail, he also told her what it was like to be there, to do what he did, to live through the fight and to carry this knowledge with him. Because those were the answers Arya was interested in the most.

"In King's Landing…" he started. Arya's shoulders strained. "How could you slip through the Lannisters' fingers? And what happened between that and your encounter with Yoren?"

"Those are two questions," she argued, feebly.

"But the same story." Robb didn't give her an inch. "You had countless questions, anyway. And I replied to all of them."

Arya couldn't deny that. She took a deep breath and she began to speak: "I was with Syrio when the soldiers came. Ser Meryn from the Kingsguard and five from the Lannisters' red coats. They said they wanted to bring me to father, but I knew it was a lie and Syrio knew, too. He didn't let them capture me. He stood up to them, though he didn't have anything but a wooden sword we had practiced with. He ordered me to run. So I ran."

Then she told him how she reached the Hand's Tower, how she found the dying Hullen and about the moment when she understood that everything was over and her only chance was escaping from the castle. She told him about the broken chest – she had packed her stuff into it last night – in which she found Needle. And finally, she told him about the stableboy who wanted to give her over to the Queen.

She subsided into silence then.

"No secrets," Robb reminded her of their deal.

"I remembered nothing from what I had learnt about using swords. Nothing, just the first lesson. But the first was enough."

"What was the first lesson?"

"Stick them with the pointy end," Arya said and she continued, but she wasn't willing to look into Robb's eyes anymore. "I realized I couldn't go on horse, because I would be stopped at the gate. But I knew there was another way. I passed along on it once, by accident. I just had to find it again."

She stole candles from the sept and she was roaming the castle for more than an hour until she came across the small window that led her to the buried dragonskulls in the cellar. She confessed how scared she was. She did know what was taken from her, she did know the horror she left behind, yet, she was afraid of the darkness in the dept of the Red Keep.

"And I thought of you." Arya still stared at her knees, but Robb saw that she smiled for a moment.

"Me?"

"There are worse things than spiders and rats."

Obviously, she quoted him, though Robb had no idea when he said something like that. Arya realized that he didn't know, so she explained it.

"You took us down to the crypts. Bran, Sansa and me. And Jon pretended that he was the ghost of an old King of Winter."

He remembered now. The jest and the punishment they got because of it. It happened a long time ago. He and Jon were about Arya's age or younger.

"I went down to the dragonskulls, then out of the castle through the wastewater canal." Arya's merriness disappeared with that. Her voice was toneless and her words became lower and lower while she spoke about starvation, the endless dread from the golden coats who crowded the streets. She told him how many times she was chased by the miserables of Flea Bottom and how she hunted for pigeons and where she found a place to sleep. She told him when the bells began to toll and she heard that the Hand was brought to the Great Sept, she hurried there, as well. She climbed up to the statue of Baelor. "I wanted to save father. I know I couldn't have done it. I know I wouldn't have reached him in time. I knew then and there too. But I had to try… Then Yoren caught me and I became Arry. Arry the silly boy."

Silence fell between them. Outside, wuthering wind blew – Robb didn't notice before, he paid attention only to his sister – and it was darker by now, though it wasn't a real storm yet.

Arya kept quiet. It seemed she never wanted to speak again. Robb felt like he heard enough, for now, but he had to ask a last question:

"He was the only one? The stableboy? The only one whom…?" He did know the answer. At least, he was almost sure he did."

Imperceptibly, Arya jerked her head.

"Are you angry with me?" she whispered.

"I am glad that you found your way back to us."

"And the King in the North? Is he angry with me? Will he judge me?"

Robb leaned to her and took her hand. At first, Arya didn't seem to allow it, but then she held on to his hand so hard that it hurt.

"No, of course not," he said seriously.

* * *

Evenings, and daytime whenever they stopped to rest, Catelyn spent most of her time with Jon because decency required that, and also because she could not let his companions sense any enmity between them.

The boy knew that too – or he simply understood her intention. They talked to each other, a few words each day, always courteously and warily. Catelyn was cool, Jon was tense, though far less than before he had travelled to the Wall with Benjen. Catelyn thought that this, in fact, was appropriate, considering that members of the Night Watch had to face greater threats – even without ancient tales – than her. Besides, Jon wasn't a child anymore.

Regarding her… Catelyn tried to overcome her dislike towards him. She tried to convince herself not to be cross with the boy because of imaginary deeds of the Bastard of Winterfell. And she couldn't be cross with him because of decisions Ned or Robb made. She tried to accept that she had been wrong. She tried to see him in a different light, just like Ned and Robb and Arya did.

She was never willing to do that for Jon Snow, but she had to do it for Jon Stark. For the sake of all of them.

They encamped the seventh time when she decided to speak to him about the Knight of The Laughing Tree.

* * *

Jon noticed her restlessness, but he didn't understand the reason behind it. It was like she was waiting for something – or preparing for something.

However, she didn't say a word. They ate in quiet – as usually, after all, they had already discussed everything they had to. At least, Jon thought so. He just wanted to wish her 'good night', when suddenly Lady Stark began to speak about Greywater Watch and Howland Reed. It seemed that this evening was that 'someday' she had mentioned in the crypts of Winterfell more than a week ago.

And he sat there, listening to her, because he promised he would do so. It was almost like she was telling him a tale as Old Nan had done years ago. Jon found it rather uncomfortable, despite the fact that it was his family's story; and more than that, a part of the Seven Kingdoms' history. But he didn't understand why this was so important – according to Lady Stark – that he had to be aware of it, too.

Upon hearing about Lady Lyanna's justice, he thought that if he and his siblings had been in that kind of situation, Arya would have done the same as their aunt – and then that his sister could not resist boasting about her victory. Maybe not even if she made the King mad at her for it.

Well… the old Arya would have acted that way. The new one… The new one was more unsure, but at the same time, more determined as well. That thought saddened him.

She finished the tale with the encounter of Lady Lyanna and Prince Rhaegar. What came after that was really history, and people knew it well all over Westeros.

"Bran would have liked this story," Jon noted. But perhaps it was a mistake to say that. He shouldn't have brought up his little brother.

Lady Stark paled, but finally she replied shortly: "I believe so, too."

Jon stood up. "Well, I… Thank you for sharing this story with me." There was something odd in her expression which made him hesitating. "Because it is over, isn't it?"

She looked away, and nodded. "Yes, it's over."

* * *

Author's note:

A few words about Catelyn's hesitance:

She wants to tell Jon the truth, but she knows from her own experience that it's hard to tell and hard to hear this story. She is also afraid that Jon will be upset (she was, after all), and they need a clear mind when they meet Stannis and Melisandre.


	8. Of past, future and magic

**Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.**

 **And thank you very much for all the reviews.**

* * *

About Jon's rights (in my opinion):

It sounds impressive that he is the rightful heir to the iron throne, but, in reality, after his family's disenthronement, he is not. Despite that, he can claim the throne demanding a Targaryen restauration, yes, alluding to his status as Rhaegar's last living son, but he should take the throne with force like Robert and Aegon did long before him. And that would mean a new war and bloodshed and wasting the sources while the dead are coming. Jon, however, said that they had to stay and prepare for fighting in the North, and not march to the south again.

Besides, for people in Westeros, Viserys would have been the rightful Targaryen king for fifteen years and who cared about him? (Expect the Martells.) They definitely didn't want a Targaryen on the throne. Why would they care more for Jon's supposed right and claim?

* * *

Shifting Jon's and Catelyn's POV in their scene is intended. I wanted to show what was going through both of their minds.

* * *

 _The wildlings called Jon Snow a warg, but if so he was a poor one. He did not know how to put on a wolf skin, the way Orell had with his eagle before he'd died. Once Jon had dreamed that he was Ghost, looking down upon the valley of the Milkwater where Mance Rayder had gathered his people, and that dream had turned out to be true. But he was not dreaming now, and that left him only words._

 _"You cannot come with me," Jon said, cupping the wolf's head in his hands and looking deep into those eyes. "You have to go to Castle Black. Do you understand? Castle Black. Can you find it? The way home? just follow the ice, east and east, into the sun, and you'll find it._

/A Storm of Swords/

* * *

 **VIII. Of past, future and magic**

Winter didn't fit Roslin Stark. She had known this long before Arya helpfully drew her attention to it. No more than a few minutes outside was enough for her nose to start running and her cheeks to become red from the cold.

Snowfall was beautiful, of course, so was the white landscape. Wild and austere, but beautiful. But only watching from the inside, beside the amiably crackling fire of the hearth. She didn't like it, but she knew she needed to accommodate with time.

She was the Queen in the North. And the North meant freezing air and sharp wind, howling wolves in the night and snow-frost on the windows instead of real flowers.

It was a lonely place. A quiet one. Especially for someone coming from the persistently crowded Crossing. Roslin never imagined that she would ever long for the Twins. Though she didn't mourn over her abandoned home, she rather missed her sisters, at least one or two. Rarely – just rarely – those sisters, too, whom she never thought of missing before.

At least, her brother, Olyvar was here, keeping her company. Even if he had too many duties to have much free time to be spent with Roslin. Truth to be told, he seldom sought the opportunity for it. He was helpful and immensely proud of being the King's squire. A boy like him could only dream of such thing, but not hope that his dream would ever come true. She knew perfectly well, how it felt like when the impossible became reality. And honestly, she had her own duties.

She was disappointed that Lady Catelyn had gone to the Wall before her arrival. She would have liked to take a counsel with her: how a southern girl could cope and find her place northward from the Neck. Here, in Winterfell.

Roslin was one of the Starks, after all. For that she must love them. This wouldn't be so hard in the case of her husband, she thought. But of Arya, that was a whole other story…

In Lady Catelyn's absence, Robb entrusted her to watch over Arya. Roslin had a lot of half sisters and nieces, back in the Twins. She grew up with some of them, and she saw the others growing up. So she thought she knew all kinds of young girls with all their possible temper and whim. Arya, however, made great efforts to show her how wrong Roslin was.

Despite that, Roslin was trying to get closer to her. And the more stubbornly Arya wanted to frighten her off, the more stubbornly Roslin tried. Once she even went out with Arya to the courtyard to watch her new sister swishing her sword. The only needle she used with pleasure.

It was a chilly day. The sun was bright in the sky, but – in Roslin's opinion – its rays probably had frozen before they could reach the ground. It didn't bother Arya, apparently. She was jumping up and down and spinning round and round with a determined expression on her rosy face. Meanwhile, Roslin was shivering more and more beside the wall.

"It is very cold," she remarked with chattering teeth, when the girl stopped to take a short break.

"It is going to be much colder," Arya promised with a grim smile. "Because winter is coming. The real winter."

When one night Roslin had told Robb the same, complaining how cold she felt, her husband twisted around, and embracing her he laid one more blanket over themselves.

Of course, he liked her. Arya didn't.

And Robb learnt how to behave properly with a lady. Especially, with his own lady. Arya, however, as a general rule, didn't like ladies, not caring about the fact that one day she would have to be one. Rather soon.

The manner of ladies irritated her. Their occupations bored her. Day by day, she sat down to read or sew with Roslin, but clearly just because her mother pledged her to do so. However, if it had been up to her, she would have done the tasks of Olyvar or the guards of Winterfell. The tasks of anyone who could wear breeches with a sword on their side.

Roslin knew that the things she could offer her couldn't compete with that, but she didn't plan to give up. Particularly, because her defiance was the only thing that made her already worthy of the Stark name.

* * *

Last night Catelyn slept uneasily, and in the morning, she woke up early. Though not as early as Jon.

Catelyn found him sitting beside the campfire, when she – having enough of the dreamless tumbling – took a walk, wrapping herself in her robe. She hoped the frosty air would clear her mind.

Jon stared into the flames, worriedly. He didn't even notice her until she reached him. Now that she could have a closer look of his face, she thought better: he might have not woken up early, he kept vigil.

"You should sleep."

Jon looked up at her – just for a moment –, then he turned back to the fire. "I tried."

He couldn't have tried too hard, considering it wasn't even dawn.

Catelyn took a place within reach from him, covering herself with her robe. Here, so far in the North, even the fire seemed to give less warmth.

It was a clear, starlit night. The moon had already set, but the sun didn't rise yet. Some miles ahead, the Wall was a dark mass. If there hadn't been trees and hills, they would have seen the fires of Castle Black. They settled for the night one or two hours of slow riding from the Wall, because Catelyn and Jon agreed that it was better to arrive in the daytime when there would be time and opportunity to meet Stannis Baratheon and talk to him under proper circumstances. To that, Catelyn even added: 'If I were to listen to my heart, I wouldn't spend a night under the same roof as him. But if it is truly unavoidable, at least, I would like only as much as I have to.'

Jon poked the fire. The smoldering logs glowed up and sparks snapped high.

"I have been dreaming about Ghost. For several days now." They were just dreams, really. He didn't feel the direwolf, when he was awake. Not like he ever had any luck with slipping into Ghost's skin. Even when they were together, he was trying in vain. "It's almost like he is close. A bit closer with every step." At first, he didn't know whether his dreams suggested that, or he just wished it to be true so desperately that his desires created the dreams.

"Is it possible?"

"Yes." He had no doubts anymore. "At nights… I do what he does. I run in the snow for hours, I hunt, and when I wake up, I feel like I didn't sleep at all." He didn't understand why he confessed that. Out of curiosity, perhaps. Lady Catelyn called him 'liar' before because of the Horn of Winter – besides that, she probably saw him as a lunatic, even if she didn't say it to his face. Jon wanted to ascertain whether her attitude changed.

Catelyn didn't respond, for a long time. She thought of Robb and their journey from Riverrun to the Twins, then from the Twins to Moat Cailin. She remembered how worried she was about her son, more than usual. She was afraid that he overstrained himself and burned himself out before he needed his energy the most. Only because he wanted to measure up to his people's expectations and the tales that were spread about him. But who knows? Maybe he couldn't help it. Maybe sometimes his dreams didn't obey him just like Jon's didn't obey Jon.

"I think Robb sometimes… many times, actually, goes through the same."

Jon hesitated about whether to continue or not. Lady Catelyn was surprisingly patient and broadminded recently, nonetheless, he was careful not to cross a line. It would have been easier though, if he had known where exactly that line ran. The only thing that seemed certain that somewhere before wargs.

But after what she had said, Jon felt like he was left with no other choice than replying:

"Because he is a warg. Like me."

Then he waited.

Perhaps, Lady Stark simply thought it a foolish superstition. In that case, he was lucky. But if he wasn't, she – like a lot of people, especially in the South – regarded being a warg as something unnatural and horrible. Or more than that, as an insult against the King. Because avowing himself a warg was one thing, but calling the Lord of the North a warg was entirely different.

"Wargs and dreamseers," she muttered with a sour smile. Believing in wargs was easier. She had seen her children and Jon with their wolves enough times to harbor less doubt about wargs. Though she didn't know whether she wanted to doubt at all. Robb was called Young Wolf and maybe it wouldn't be so bad if he was really a wolf, now when winter was coming and Stannis Baratheon had already come.

Her son just wanted to be fair when he confronted her with the fact how similar the shadows were to the Others, but he said well: if Catelyn believed in what she had seen with her own eyes, it is time for her to believe in giants and other creatures of the Land of the Always Winter. Well… except grumkins and snarks. Glancing northward, it didn't seem so difficult – or so impossible – anymore.

In rose and gold, the wall was blazing in the light of the waking sun. It was beautiful. It was beautiful and menacing and _obviously_ it was standing there for a reason for thousands and thousands of years. In the guarding of the realms of men, just like the Watch's vows said.

Jon also looked at the Wall. He was wondering, soon – maybe in an hour or less than that – they would break camp and take the road again. And he… he would come home. It was an odd thought. An odd feeling, but a true one. The Wall became his home, in a way different than Winterfell, but as much and as little as that. One more place where he didn't really belong.

"It is good that you have friends there," Lady Catelyn replied.

Jon shrugged. "Small in numbers and importance." Except Maester Aemon, but who knows how much worth his word had in the Watch nowadays. He drew the freezing mutational air, deeply. Maybe he just imagined it, but the air tasted different here than in Winterfell. "Most of them didn't want to see me there." That, he had already avowed to Lady Catelyn, a few nights before. It would have been revealed as soon as they had stepped through the gate of Caste Black anyway.

"The one who left is not the same who returns."

He was already Jon Stark when he left the Wall, but it was worth just enough for his brothers not to have him hanged – and for Jon, it didn't seem much more real now than it did back then.

"I don't feel the difference."

"It doesn't matter," Lady Catelyn pointed out. "Unless the others notice."

Once, Tyrion Lannister suggested that he should never forget who he was because the world wouldn't do him such favor. But if he forged an armor from what in others' eyes was his weakness, no one would do him harm anymore with names like 'Bastard' or 'Lord Snow'. This situation was a whole different story – in fact, the inverse of the earlier one –, and Lady Catelyn spoke about a weapon not an armor, yet…

"Tyrion Lannister told me something similar."

He mentioned the Imp on purpose, but not because he wanted to provoke Lady Catelyn. He was curious. He had some ideas about Robb' opinion about Sansa's marriage. He knew his brother didn't like the thought, at all. On the other hand, he also knew that Robb saw an opportunity in it. An opportunity he couldn't throw away, nor he wanted to.

Truth to be told, it wasn't too hard to figure out what Lady Catelyn's opinion was. About the marriage, at least. Though he had to venture onto a slippery slope, Jon was more interested to find out whether she was capable of seeing further ahead, whether she was capable of accepting Robb's decision, or more, supporting him in it.

She grimaced. "I experienced how much pleasure he finds in his own voice."

"He is a good man." Of that, he apparently wouldn't convince Lady Catelyn. But he had to try, he owed Tyrion as much.

"You are the second one from whom I hear that."

Jon raised his eyebrows. "Who was the first?"

"The Kingslayer."

Well, that didn't do much to strengthen his statement.

"You have no reason to believe any of us, I know, but…"

"I believe you."

The boy was stunned. Catelyn tasted the words for a moment, but she still felt them true, so she repeated it: "I believe you. However, I don't have to accept what happened or to be pleased with it."

"And if you would have to?" Jon asked, then he specified: "To accept, I mean." Because Lady Catelyn didn't reply, he added: "If Robb makes peace."

"I wanted him to make peace," Catelyn admitted. "I want it now, as well. But that I have to pay for it with Sansa… This fate is not something I wished for her."

"She wedded to the heir of a Great House."

She did, yet…

"To a Lannister!" It would have been a cry, but she was careful not to raise her voice. She didn't want to draw attention on themselves, the guards didn't have anything to do with the discussion she and Jon had. "I wanted her to have a chance for happiness," she said bitterly.

"I think she has."

Catelyn didn't expect much else from Jon after his previous words. Despite that, she snapped at him, with sudden, rising ranger. "What do you know about that?"

The boy didn't smile, but merriness hid in his eyes. "Nothing."

* * *

Brienne was always in her heels, she accompanied her to everywhere she went in Winterfell. Robb said the girl needed some charge not to feel herself helpless and not to think about her avenge on Stannis. And guarding the Queen was a truly honorable service for a knight.

Confidentially, he added that Roslin wasn't threatened by any danger in Winterfell and in fact, she was the one who looked after Brienne, not the other way around.

It was nice of him, but Roslin, before she would pat herself on the back too much, would have liked to hear what her husband told Lady Brienne about that. She had her theories.

One afternoon, closer to twilight, she had Maester Symon send a letter to the Twins. She was going back to the castle in the whirling snowfall, following her closely, when a rider arrived at the courtyard.

Reaching closer, Roslin saw that the rider was a young girl wrapped up in heavy furs, with messy brown hair, unbound from the braid. She half sprang down, half slipped off the saddle, then she stepped to the first person she noticed. It happened to be Roslin. The girl grabbed her arm.

"I have to talk to the King." Her voice was raspy, her eyes wild and hunted.

Brienne stepped next to Roslin. She felt like the move was protective, but to the others – to the girl – it very well may have seemed threatening. Immediately, she released Roslin's arm.

"You stand ahead of _Queen_ Roslin, my lady."

The girl glanced at Brienne, then she looked Roslin up and down, more thoroughly this time. And, instead of courtesy or bow, she drew herself up. She was taller than Roslin and thin like a boy.

"I am Lady Alys Karstark of Karhold. I want to speak with Robb Stark."


	9. The black brothers and the red king

**Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.**

 **And thank you very much for all the reviews.**

* * *

 _"Listen to yourselves! If you were sons of mine, I would bang your heads together and lock you in a bedchamber until you remembered that you were brothers."_

 _Stannis frowned at her. "You presume too much, Lady Stark. I am the rightful king, and your son no less a traitor than my brother here. His day will come as well."_

 _The naked threat fanned her fury. "You are very free to name others traitor and usurper, my lord, yet how are you any different?_

/A Clash of Kings/

* * *

 **The black brothers and the red king**

Castle Black was as ruinous as Catelyn expected, but much more crowded. The bustle was caused by Stannis Baratheon's men, although, Jon mentioned when he had left the Watch, his black brothers were waiting for the commanders from the Shadow Tower and Eastwatch-by-the-Sea. Certainly, they arrived since then and they didn't travel alone.

The huge mass of the Wall stretched to the clouds. It seemed protective and threatening at the same time. Here, in the shadow of the ice, the air felt much colder than while they were riding across the open land. The courtyard was filled with clashing of swords and knocking of hammers, mixed with words of command and cursing. At least, until their last members marched through the wide-open gate.

More and more men started to watch them, laying their work and practice aside. Hundreds and hundreds of eyes followed their every move from the windows and the walls. Catelyn would have given a lot to know what hid behind those looks: curiosity, disinterest or hostility. There was a little of all of them, and probably of much more. But the person, whose feelings mattered the most, didn't show himself yet.

An old man hurried to them instead, wearing a black cloak, swishing behind him. He was heavily balding, but he had a beard, white as the snow on the castle's roofs. His steps, however, were still firm and brisk. He was high born, no doubt, Catelyn knew it from only a glance at him. His upbringing could been faded neither by his age, nor by the hard years on the Wall.

"Ser Denys Mallister," Jon whispered next to her, a bit uncertainly.

Catelyn had met Jason Mallister enough times to recognize the similar features. The boy was right.

The man reached them, and bowed. "I am Ser Denys Mallister, commander of the Shadow Tower. Welcome to Castle Black, Lady Stark! My prince!

Jon was about to reply, but whatever he wanted to say, the words never came. His expression was a perfect counterpart of Arya's when Lord Walder had called her 'princess' in the Twins for the first time. But fortunately, Jon recovered soon and – of course – he didn't begin to sulk like his cousin had done.

People of the North didn't get used to the titles that belonged to the Starks once again after three hundred years. Naturally, they called Robb 'your grace' or 'my king' – the crown helped to remind them of it. But that was all. Arya didn't mind, at all. And Jon, apparently, didn't even think of it, before now.

Catelyn, while she had a few courteous words with Ser Denys, was wondering if the boy understood the significance of the greeting. The message was that they accepted Robb's ruling and decrees. And Ser Denys spoke in the name of the Watch, even if each of them didn't agree with him.

It gave a reason to hope. Just like what Ser Denys said at the end:

"Lord Stannis has been waiting for you. Please, follow me!

* * *

Now, standing face to face with the infamous Stannis Baratheon and his more infamous red priestess, Jon felt quite uncomfortable. When he was brought to Mance Rayder, he could rely on no one but himself and his survival was the most important. Because if he had died, the Halfhand's sacrifice would have been meaningless and Jon wouldn't have helped his brothers.

This time, however, Jon himself was insignificant. He stood for his brother and the future of the North depended on what he would say and do. Perhaps, it was a mistake to offer to come here and negotiate with Stannis Baratheon. Or if not a mistake – he did for Robb's sake, after all – then foolishness. He was conceited to think, he could succeed. He never had a parley with noblemen and he was never taught how to have one. And since he had left Winterfell to join the Night's Watch, he didn't have any occasion to gain experience in such thing. But did it really matter? Robb trusted him and even if in that moment Jon didn't agree with him, his doubts could wait. They had to wait.

He never boggled at a challenge and he decided he wouldn't do it this time either. Especially, this time.

He brushed aside the disturbing thoughts and tried to attend to their opponents. Lady Melisandre was a blazing torch, Stannis the shadow of her flames. Jon saw the Baratheon blood in him, though he couldn't have been more unlike the late King Robert. The older brother was a real hedonist who laughed a lot and with great pleasure. The younger one conveyed the impression of a bitter man.

Admitting his legitimization, Ser Denys made it clear that to the Watch Robb was the true King in the North. But similarly to him, Stannis didn't hesitate to proclaim that he thought that otherwise.

"Lady Stark. Jon Snow."

So, it began.

"My apologies, my lord, but that's not my name anymore."

Stannis Baratheon's jaw was clenched. Jon heard how he grinded his teeth.

"I know about your new name. But the person who gave it to you is one of the usurpers of my throne, making his decrees invalid. You are an oath-breaker like him. And you are still a bastard."

The soldiers who were guarding the door grabbed the hilt of their swords. Affront, by the wall, Stannis' men did the same.

Jon didn't believe Stannis was a kind of man who would behead him here and now, with no regard to the legal procedures. He controlled himself much better.

But Lady Stark didn't. Before Jon could have said a word, she stepped forward.

"Robb didn't usurp anything from you, _my lord_. He didn't demand a crown for himself, the people gave it to him. The North never was and never will be yours. My son is the King in the North, his word is the word of a king. And you are talking to the prince of the North."

Jon knew that first and foremost Lady Stark's outburst served the protection of Robb's authority, nonetheless, it was astonishing to hear that she stuck up for him. Staggering, rather. Despite the weeks they had to spend near each other.

"If it is so." Stannis's bloodless lips flinched. In another face it would have been a sneer, but his expression barely changed. "I am the rightful king of the Seven Kingdoms. All of the Seven. Yet, two of you deny to call me on the title that belongs to me."

Jon almost noted they had better things to discuss than arguing over names and titles, but he reminded himself that actually _it_ was the point. In the North, there was no place for two kings. And if none of them gave up their crown willingly – be that crown theoretical or real –, it had to be taken away.

Despite that, they had to bring up the danger coming from beyond the Wall.

"It is said that you came here to fight against the White Walkers," he said.

"He came here to triumph over the White Walkers," Lady Melisandre spoke up with unction. Her voice was deep with some foreign, eastern flavor. "This is the fate he was born for. I saw in the flames."

"He doesn't have to be king to triumph."

"And yet, he will be king," the priestess replied. The ruby in her neck was shining brightly. More brightly than it could have shone in the dim chamber.

"Did you see that in the flames, too, my lady?"

Lady Melisandre was smiling, but didn't give an answer.

"Rather in the shadows," Lady Catelyn noted with disdain. She turned to Lord Stannis then. "A year ago, under the walls of Storm's End, I did tell you that my son bended the knee to no man."

"And I did tell you your son was no less a traitor than my brother, and his day would come as well."

It was a threat, just like it had been for the first time. Lord Stannis couldn't presume – Jon, on the other hand, knew – that with that, he moved their conversation exactly to the direction intended by Lady Stark.

Now, she smiled, contently like the red priestess did before. But Lady Melisandre's smile was seducing and promising, Lady Catelyn's was as cold as ice.

"I was there when the day of your brother came. I saw the creature that took his life." She glanced at the red woman, then back to Stannis. "I saw whose face it was wearing. Now, I advice you what your priestess told your brother: 'Look to your own sins, Lord Stannis.' Renounce your claim to the throne and be the hero who will bring the Dawn. Or fight and die without honor."

* * *

Robb expected that one of the Karstarks – sooner or later – would come to Winterfell to get square with him because of Lord Rickard. But it wasn't Alys whom he waited for, rather one of her uncles or cousins. And an army, perhaps.

Compared to that, Alys' appearance was a relief but also extremely alarming.

The girl drew her chair very close to the fireplace and since she had sat down, wrapping tightened in her cloak, she remained silent. If she wanted to wait until the coldness of the last few weeks – which she had to spend mostly in the saddle – would melt away from her bones, their night would be very, very long.

Winter was already close. Day by day, the snowfall became more frequent and wilder. The wind, if it was rising, blew sharper and sharper. The sun, if it came out from behind the clouds, gave only light but no warm.

What could lead Alys to take the road to Winterfell, all alone? Roslin said she was desperate and determined. Now, seeing her with his own eyes, Robb admitted his wife was right.

Roslin also said that Alys Karstark was seething with rage. And that mixed with the two other emotions made her very dangerous. No doubt, Roslin was right in that, too.

Robb was watching the girl deep in thoughts. Every so often she gave him a hostile look, then she continued to stare stubbornly into nothing.

Grey Wind was lying in the corner, seemingly in peace, but Robb could feel how tense the direwolf was, ready to jump.

Finally, Alys braced herself up. Still grabbing her cloak, she stood up and made a step towards Robb.

"I came here to ask for your help, cousin."

The message was clear. Alys was ready to put their conflicts aside – for now, at least – but it didn't mean that she accepted him as her king.

Robb gestured to her to continue.

"My uncle, Arnolf, I mean, my father's uncle wants to force me to marry his son, my cousin, Cregan. They want Karhold for themselves."

"For that they need you," Robb nodded.

"For that they need a child whom I bear to Cregan," Alys corrected. "After the birth, I would become useless for them and my cousin would bury me light-heartedly next to his two former wives." She looked into Robb's eyes, challengingly. "Of course, if you let him do it."

"My duty is to help you as my kin," Robb replied, then he came up with his own terms. "However, Winterfell and Karhold are bound not only by our ancestors' blood but their oaths. The North has to be united."

Alys understood and she tightened her lips. "My father chose you as his king and you beheaded him. What fate does wait for me, if I accept you as my king?"

"Your father broke my order," Robb reminded her.

"He killed Lannisters."

"He killed unarmed prisoners. Children."

The girl held his gaze for a while. At last, she averted her eyes, but she did even that with defiance.

Then Robb looked away, as well. He was as agitated as her. Grey Wind, however still watched Alys, the light of the flames were dancing in his eyes.

"Like your brothers," the girl noted much later. Robb snapped his head up. Alys' voice remained angry, but the blame was replaced by bitterness. She was trying to understand him. "It must have been hard. To judge in my father's case, after what happened to your brothers."

He would have lied if he said he didn't think of Bran and Rickon, when he saw the bodies for the first time. But there was more to it than that. Robb knew he made a terrible mistake in the Westerlands. And he also knew he could have no one to blame for it but himself. _Then_ he was weak – even if only for a moment – and he couldn't let it happen again. He couldn't be insecure. Never. He decided he would be a stern king. As with himself as with others. He was afraid that otherwise he would make a bad decision. And perhaps he did, at the end, but because of the fear.

But he didn't want to talk about that. Especially not with Alys. And it was too late for doubts anyway.

"It was one of the hardest decisions I have ever had to make," he said after a long silence. Because it was true. It was an answer that the girl perhaps could make peace with.

* * *

Roslin pretended to be completely absorbed in her needlework. Though there wasn't anyone nearby, to whom she should have played a part. She could only fool herself, at best. But she wasn't talented enough to achieve that.

From time to time she glanced at the door and when that – much later – opened and Robb stepped into the room, she was relieved.

She knew it was silly to be so worried. After all, Lady Alys was just a young girl, and the direwolf would never leave Robb's side. But she also did know what a lady's cunning was capable of. Even she – in spite of her gentle nature – would have ideas how to lull someone's suspiciousness and allure them close and where to hide a dagger that in the right moment she could slide into her hand.

Robb, however – bless the gods! – seemed unharmed, even if not too cheerful.

Roslin put down the needle and the thread.

"She didn't cut your throat." It was half a joke.

Just like what Robb replied. "No, but she can do it later."

In his mind, he must have still been in that other chamber with that other girl. Roslin didn't urge him. Robb stood there for a while, musing, frowning. Finally, he shook his head, as if he would want to end the former conversation with that. He sat down next to Roslin and held her hand.

So the time of questions arrived, Roslin assumed.

"If she doesn't seek revenge, why did she come here? To swear loyalty?" It didn't seem probable but more unimaginable things happened before. Like things that brought her to Winterfell.

Robb sighed. "Perhaps. But it has a price."

After he shared everything that was said between Lady Alys and him, Robb finished with that: "For now, she fears her kins more than she hates me."

"Well… it's good for us, I think."

"Better than what I could have hoped for," Robb admitted with a sour smile. "Alys is the heir of Karhold. Maybe the _Lady_ of Karhold. Considering we haven't got any news about her brother for months. Either way, she has to secure her rights and claim for the castle and the holdfast."

"In a battlefield, against her kins?"

"Most likely. With time."

Just for a moment, Roslin made the slightest grimace. A lady, in situations like this, could express her displeasure only with this much. 'Most likely.' And that battle, if it came, would be fought by the king apparently instead of Lady Alys.

"But before all," Robb continued "she has to get married. So she can escape from his uncle's control and care for her own heir."

Well, a wedding sounded better than a battle. To Roslin's ears, at least.

"And you know whom she should marry, as well." She didn't make it a question, because she thought, actually she knew it, too.

Robb nodded.

* * *

As he promised during a hasty encounter this afternoon, Samwell Tarly came to them – or rather to Jon – after the Choosing.

Entering the room, he shook his head. Again, there wasn't any decision made. Samwell greeted Jon and shared a few words among themselves. Catelyn stepped aside and turned away. She didn't want to bother them, but she didn't intend to leave either. The young Tarly could have a lot of valuable messages. Beginning with the balance of power in Castle Black.

"Ser Denys Mallister collected three hundred and one tokens," he started his summary after they offered him wine and a place to sit by the fire. "Cotter Pyke a round two hundred, Othell Yarwick thirty-seven, Dolorous Edd thirty-two, Lord Slynt thirteen, Three-Finger Hobb five."

"The Choosing started more than one and a half month ago," Jon noted almost reproachfully.

Samwell Tarly shrugged his shoulders. "There is precedent for longer ones."

"Certainly, people had more time in those days." This time, Jon was definitely irritated.

The other boy gave him a slight smile. "You speak just like Lord Stannis. Since he arrived, he was trying to hasten the Choosing. A few weeks ago, before a raven came from Winterfell, he promised the brothers that he would force somebody on us, even Janos Slynt, if we didn't decide soon. But no one would have accepted that. Maester Aemon, the commanders and the First Builder stood before him and told him he was threatening them with his soldiers in vain, they wouldn't allow him to interfere with the Watch's matters as their ancestors didn't allow kings, more powerful than him, to interfere, ever. It is rumored, however, that Slynt visited him. He swore if Lord Stannis helped him in the Choosing, he would give him everything that Stannis asked for: castles, weapons, lands. But Lord Stannis chased him off, and, reputedly declared that he couldn't be bribed. Either it happened, or not, Slynt lost several votes after that. Then he lost a lot more because of your brother. Most of us think that the King in the North wouldn't be pleased, if the man who is in command in the Wall, is someone who played a part in his father's – your father – imprisonment and death."

"And does it matter?"

"It shouldn't matter, but it does. There wasn't a single king in the North in the last three hundred years. Now there are two. One, who has the support of all the lords from Winterfell to Riverrun but in the south he is reputed as a traitor, and another, whom no one supports around here or elsewhere, but who sits among us with his five thousands men. We always say that the Watch doesn't meddle in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms. But the vows don't go into details about what we should do if the war comes to us."

"My son didn't want a war," Catelyn spoke up for the first time since the conversation began.

Looking at her, Samwell flushed, but – even if with difficulty – he stood her gaze. "But he wants surrender, my lady, the same Lord Stannis wants from him. So it will be a war."

"So the Watch needs a leader even more."

Samwell Tarly nodded in agreement. "Quite true, Lady Stark. Although that doesn't help answering the question who would be our leader. There hasn't been any big change in the results since the king informed us of your arrival. Except that Lord Slynt got less and less tokens, and Edd got more and more." He glanced at Jon and smiled. Widely and from his heart, for the first time. "He says, it would be the worst joke of the world to choose him for Lord Commander."

Jon returned the smile but just for a split moment. "It would be still more useful than deciding nothing. But you don't seem worried about that."

Samwell remained in high spirits. "Because something happened. Ser Denys always had more supporter than Cotter Pyke, but more in proportion. However, just in the last three days he won thirty-four tokens and almost all of them was lost by Cotter Pyke. As I mentioned before, a lot of us agree that the King in the North wouldn't be glad if one of his father's traitors became the Lord Commander of the Wall. Well, it seems, there are people who presume he wouldn't accept an ironborn either after what…" He glanced at Catelyn then looked at Jon again and awkwardly he finished with that: "What happened in Winterfell. But Ser Denys was born as a Mallister. And House Mallister…"He raised then let his shoulders fall.

House Malliester attested to the King in the North.

"It means nothing," Catelyn said. 'Almost nothing.' "When we leave, Ser Denys' position can weaken again."

Samwell Tarly shook his head. "The disunity of the Watch is not the only reason of our indecision. That person whom we choose… he has to cope with Lord Stannis. Giving him what he demands or denying it from him – and facing the consequences." He glanced at the blazing flames in the fireplace. "It's not just about castles and weapons and lands. The red woman is burning people for her god's glory. For the god, whom Lord Stannis himself is serving, as well. His men whisper…" He sighed. "I ought not to know about that, I suppose, but the Wall have become a boring place since the wildling left, especially for a soldier. And time goes faster with some talking. There are people who fall into a conversation with me, because of my name, I mean… my father's name. Others enjoy themselves with Pyp in the evenings. The point is, all of them said the same: in Dragonstone, Lord Stannis wanted to send his nephew to the pyre, because the red woman convinced him that if he did so, she could wake up the castle's stone dragons with the power of the king's blood. The boy escaped, but the promise is still standing. A human sacrifice is all they need. Gilly and I are afraid…"

But it didn't turn out what they were afraid of. Catelyn suspected Sam reserved from saying it because of her presence.

Jon, however, understood without words. At least, his nod hinted at that. They were thinking of some wilding, probably. Of Mance Rayder, maybe. The man who called himself the King Beyond the Wall. But Catelyn was thinking of Edric Storm. And of Cortnay Penrose who defended the boy and Storm's End to his death. Then she was thinking of what kind of death it could have been. She remembered the dark shadow, and she wondered whether Stannis' night-black face was the last thing that Ser Cortnay Ser Cortnay saw.

King's blood. The blood of Robb and Arya. If they lost the upcoming battle, the Red Woman would give her children to the flames hoping that their death would bring the stones to life.

She didn't hear what Jon and Sam talked about. She hardly noticed when the bulky boy wished them good night and scrambled to his feet.

King's blood. The blood of Jon. Stannis reckoned him as a bastard. He didn't accept him as Robb's true brother. So for now Jon was safe, maybe. Unless… 'I saw in the flames.'

During their journey to here, to the Wall, Catelyn just postponed and postponed telling him the second part of Lyanna's story. Until she decided she would keep quiet and wouldn't make him upset. Both of them needed clear mind if they wanted to help Robb. Anyway, there was a long, long way back to Winterfell before them. She sought comfort in this.

But if it was true what Samwell Tarly said – and why wouldn't it be? –, the boy had to know the truth to understand how much danger he was really in. Although, nothing proved that the red witch could see the truth, the future or anything else in the flames, nothing proved the opposite of it either. As far as Catelyn knew, at least. So she thought it was better to be careful.

* * *

After wishing 'good night' to Sam and turning back from the door, Jon noticed that Lady Catelyn was sitting on the chair by the fire deep in her thoughts as if she didn't intend to leave, at all, no matter how late it was.

Maybe, she wanted to discuss what they had heard from Sam. Or she thought that before this day ended, it would be important to conciliate the content of the letter written to Robb.

Though he was tired, he wouldn't mind either of them. He doubted he would be able to sleep.

However, there was something odd in Lady Catelyn's expression that put him on guard.

"Take a sit." It sounded like a request, but it wasn't.

Jon obeyed.

"Do you remember what I've told you about the Knight of the Laughing Tree?"

He nodded. Of course, he remembered.

"I didn't tell you the truth that night," she confessed. "The story didn't end there."

She didn't look at Jon, her gaze was faraway. Her cheeks were flushed by the fire, her hair was shining in the light.

"My lord husband never spoke to me about Dorne. And he hardly spoke about the war," she started in a toneless voice. "But I did know, of course. I knew what happened with Lyanna, because everyone heard about it in Westeros. And I knew what must have happened, _with him_. It was obvious, after all."

'Because he brought you with himself.' She didn't say it; she didn't need to. It was there in that the glance she gave him now. As it had been there in her every other glances before.

Yet, something had changed, and Jon realized that _she knew_. In fact, if he thought of it better, it seemed logical. She spent weeks in Greywater Watch and if anyone, Howland Reed would know the truth, the name of Jon's mother. Sixteen years ago, he had been at Lord Eddard's side during the southern journey.

Jon wanted to hear the answer, though not exactly from Lady Catelyn. And not because of that, but now, when it came within reach, he was scared.

"At least, I thought it was obvious," she continued and her voice filled with bitterness.

He could have interrupted her. He could have told her that he didn't want to hear; that after his father's death, he gave up on this secret, because he believed that with Lord Eddard's death, it was lost forever.

But that would have been cowardice. Pointless. Lady Catelyn knew. He _must_ know it too.

"The same as everyone else. Just like my lord husband wanted."

The words were unstoppable now. Simple words. Final and threatening words.

"An obvious lie to cover the inconceivable truth. The truth that is unspeakable." She glanced at him again, but this time she didn't turned her gaze. "When Lord Eddard approached the Red Mountains of Dorne, he found in that tower not a prisoner but a prince's widow. And a prince's son."

This could have been like how criminals felt when Ice hit them.

* * *

Catelyn – to her own amazement – looked at the boy with pity. Out of everyone, maybe she was the one who could imagine the most how Jon felt in that moment – and even she could barely have any clue about it.

She kept speaking, giving him time to figure out what he should say. And giving time to herself to be ready for listening to that answer.

"Lyanna made her brother swear that he would save you from Robert's wrath and save you from the fate that would have waited for you as Rhaegar's last heir. The fate that my husband, your uncle, had been witness to before in King's Landing. He vowed by Lyanna's deathbed that it could never happen again. And you do know how seriously the Starks take their vows. It didn't matter what they _or anyone else_ had to take upon themselves." Her voice filled with anger and bitterness, but only for a moment. She hoped she would be able to get over them, with time and to remember Ned the way she did before Greywater Watch. Or… the way she never could, without any resentment.

Jon kept quiet. Catelyn knew that he understood perfectly what he heard but she thought, perhaps, that it would help him if she said it aloud.

"You are the trueborn son of Lyanna Stark and Rhaegar Targaryen. The last Tarygaryen in Westeros." 'King's blood, just here, within reach from the red witch.' But she wanted to wait before pointing that out.

Jon was still struggling with words – in vain –, then suddenly he stood up.

"I have to talk to Maester Aemon."

Catelyn's eyebrows were raised high. That was not what she expected. "Now?"

The boy, if it was possible, seemed more confused for a moment. Finally, he took a deep breath.

"No. Not now. At a… more proper time. Tomorrow." He sat back and just stared into nothing.

Outside the wind was rising, whizzingly. Catelyn imagined the swirling snowflakes and how it threw a veil over the world around them. If they had drawn farther from the fireplace – just a little bit –, they would have felt the coldness of the night which seeped in between the stones and boards. The walls of Winterfell – even in the roughest winter – were always warmed by the hot springs hidden beneath the castle. This place, however… was cold, austere, ungracious and terribly lonely. End of the realms of men, undoubtedly.

"Maester Aemon is a very wise man, for sure," she noted carefully. "Though it wouldn't be a clever choice to share such a dangerous secret with him."

Jon shook his head. "I don't want to seek his advice. Although, I truly don't mind a good advice now… But he is…" He glanced at her like he considered whether he could trust her enough to finish that sentence. Then he made the decision. "He has a secret of his own, Lady Stark. Before he started to forge his chain to bond himself to the maesters' order with it, he had been called Aemon Targaryen. If everything you have told me is true, he is my…" His eyebrows wrinkled. "My great-great-granduncle, I guess."

Catelyn was astonished, but she didn't want to inquire. Not now, at least. Aemon. Aemon Targaryen. Of course. It was obvious. How much so. Or it would have been, if Catelyn hadn't known Rhaegar Frey who probably couldn't have resembled a dragon less.

Moreover, the maester was old. Ancient. If Jon calculated correctly, he was a brother or cousin of Aegon V. Yes, considering his age it seemed quite imaginable. Just like that Stannis, whose grandmother was born a Targaryen, knew about it too. So Maester Aemon was whom Samwell and Jon feared for.

"Maester Luwin taught us that Targaryens were buried with fire. Like the members of the Watch. But _not_ in their lives."

It seemed like Jon decided he would care for practical questions first and Catelyn accepted that. She did the same, after all. At least, when she calmed down enough for thinking. For her part, it meant the problem of inheritance and the defense of her children's rights. Jon was also worried about his family, but in another way.

And with that, they returned to the reason why Catelyn brought herself to this conversation.

"Stannis Baratheon wouldn't burn people in the North," she declared, "or anywhere else. And he definitely wouldn't burn would burn none of Aemon Targaryen."

"I don't… Sorry?" Jon caught the comprehension of her words with a delay.

"You were given that name," Catelyn confirmed. "After Maester Aemon, perhaps. Or the Dragon Knight." She shrugged. "Aemon Targaryen. No one, except Lord Reed, said it since your birth. And it would be better if it weren't said anymore. Being Jon Stark is dangerous enough in these days."

Jon Stark. Another name Catelyn didn't say out loud before. It felt truer – all in all – than Aemon Targaryen. More real. More right. And she believed she could accept it now.

"Robb?" The boy asked suddenly. "Does he…?"

He didn't finish it, but Catelyn understood what he meant.

"He knows. I believe Lord Reed decided to uncover the truth thanks to his presence. If anytime… you have to prove your ancestry, if it so happens… you should go to Greywater Watch."

Jon nodded but it seemed in his thoughts he was far away. He needed time – and solitude. They lacked the first, but she could give him the second.

She stood up to leave him alone and as she got by him – with a sudden idea – she rested her hand on his shoulder for a moment. She didn't even remember when she touched Jon last time – it must have happened years ago – but she felt it was appropriate now.

The boy didn't seem to notice, though. When Catelyn closed the door behind herself, he was still sitting in the same tensed posture as earlier.


	10. Dragon in wolf-skin

**Sorry for the very long break.**

 **Thank you to everyone who has favourited or is following the story.**

 **And thank you very much for all the reviews.**

* * *

 _"Three times the gods saw fit to test my vows. Once when I was a boy, once in the fullness of my manhood, and once when I had grown old. By then my strength was fled, my eyes grown dim, yet that last choice was as cruel as the first. My ravens would bring the news from the south, words darker than their wings, the ruin of my House, the death of my kin, disgrace and desolation. What could I have done, old, blind, frail? I was helpless as a suckling babe, yet still it grieved me to sit forgotten as they cut down my brother's poor grandson, and his son, and even the little children..."_

 _Jon was shocked to see the shine of tears in the old man's eyes. "Who are you?" he asked quietly, almost in dread._

 _A toothless smile quivered on the ancient lips. "Only a maester of the Citadel, bound in service to Castle Black and the Night's Watch. In my order, we put aside our house names when we take our vows and don the collar." The old man touched the maester's chain that hung loosely around his thin, fleshless neck. "My father was Maekar, the First of his Name, and my brother Aegon reigned after him in my stead. My grandfather named me for Prince Aemon the Dragonknight, who was his uncle, or his father, depending on which tale you believe. Aemon, he called me..._ "

/A Game of Thrones/

* * *

 **X. Dragon in wolf-skin**

After the gate rang down behind him closing the tunnel, Jon, for the first time in a long while, felt perfectly peaceful. The tense wait during the weeks spent on the road, Stannis Baratheon and his five thousands men, the black brothers who did not know how they should treat him – what they did know was that they did not agree with Jon was about to do… All of these stayed on the other side of the Wall. And finally, he was able to think with a clear mind.

Here, neither Jon Stark, nor Aemon Targaryen mattered. He could be just Jon. For a few moments, at least.

He had always believed that learning his mother's name would be liberating. But when Lady Catelyn said those words, all he felt was… emptiness. He did not have a desire for a secret like that. A truth like that. Sure, he had fantasized a lot about his mother not being a common woman (which seemed the most plausible possibility) but a highborn lady, just as noble as Lady Catelyn.

And now it turned out that she had been. Moreover, for a short period, though nobody had known, Lyanna Stark had been a princess of the realm. It was an unrealistic thought, Jon did not even know how to deal with it.

He got a mother whom he believed to be dead in his whole life. He got a father whom he heard nothing but bad things of – and who was dead as well.

And in exchange, he lost whom he thought was his father and… No, that was nonsense.

He was not born a bastard and he was not born the son of Eddard Stark, but he became both of those things. He grew up this way and the truth could not have changed this. And it could not have changed what kind of man he became.

"My lord…?"

A dozen of soldiers accompanied him to beyond the Wall from those who arrived at Castle Black with Lady Catelyn and him.

She wanted him to bring more of them. The soldiers themselves tried to convince him of the same and Denys Mallister also suggested it.

But Jon knew – and he told all of them – that it did not matter how many they were, twenty or hundred, if the wildlings decided to kill them, they would be dead.

Ser Denys just nodded, reluctantly and anxiously, Lady Catelyn, however, returned to where their argument started: Jon should not go beyond the Wall at all.

"Lady Stark," he had said, "I came here not only because of Stannis. And before I return home, I would like to do something that I think can help Robb."

"For that, you have to stay alive," she had noted pointedly.

"I will," Jon had replied, hoping that he was right.

"My Lord!" The soldier repeated, more firmly this time. It was the only sound in the wintry silence.

Jon came back from his musing. "According to the rangers, the nearest wildling camp is in north-westward, about fifteen miles away."

He knew the exact place but the names used beyond the Wall would not tell the soldiers much.

He stepped forward in the deep, still untouched snow. The others, stumblingly, followed him. Blinking, as if they expected unspeakable dreads lurking there, under the Wall, waiting for them. Yes, a dozen was more than enough of them.

Grenn and Dolorous Edd offered to go with him. (' _The other side of the Wall fits those who are wearing the black._ ' ' _And, at least, there it's not so overcrowded. I would rather be stabbed to death than trampled._ ') But Ser Denys wouldn't have allowed it and Jon didn't think it would be a good idea to bring crows among wildlings. Not even under the flag of truce.

* * *

Because of the snow they went ahead at a slow pace. The walk was long, but, at least, thanks to the rangers' reports, they found the wildling camp rather fast. Jon was relieved when he got sight of the tents. The wildlings who had been following them for hours allowed them to come this far. Jon reckoned it was an encouraging sign. Or, to be honest, an alarming one. Perhaps they were just luring him to the wildling who had demanded the Turncloak's blood most loudly.

Jon chose to go with encouraging.

He did not expect warm greetings, but he hoped that the wildlings knew that in this situation gutting him without asking any questions would be foolish. And if they asked him, maybe he could persuade them that there were more urgent things to do and better ways than keeping up the bad blood between them.

Jon knew that dozens of arrowheads were pointed at him while he was walking through between the tents, but no one stopped him. Behind his back, the soldiers were certainly glancing around nervously. Jon, however, looked ahead at the tent in the centre of the camp. Then at the man with a broad chest and a white beard who stepped out of that tent. He scowled at Jon. But he did not say a word until only a length of a spear separated them.

"Look at that, the crow flies back to us to die."

Hearing that, the soldiers reached for their swords but at Jon's wave they pulled their hands back. Some wildlings, sitting in front of the tent, were watching them, seemingly bored. But Jon knew them well enough that he did not doubt that should a fight broke out, knives would appear in their palms within seconds.

"I'm not a crow."

Tormund Giantsbane raised his brushy eyebrows. "Again? It's time to decide it, don't you think?"

"I have decided."

Tormund gave him a sharp look, then, he nodded and pulled aside the canvas from his tent's entrance.

Jon stepped in alone. He waited until his eyes adjusted to the half-light of the smoldering fire. Tormund sat down on the leathers, Jon took a place across from him.

"So, you're not a crow."

"No."

"What are you then?"

"Jon Stark, envoy of the King in the North."

Tormund's moustache flinched. Maybe it was the sign of a smile.

"Arrah! And when did that happen?"

"About two months ago. After we beat off your first attack."

"Well, you had great luck, indeed." Tormund snorted. Half in jest, half testily. "It would have been a pity dying as Jon Snow, wouldn't it, Jon Stark?"

Jon Snow would not have been killed in a battle. He would have frozen or starved to death, or hanged as a traitor. But Tormund did not have to know that. And Jon did not come to speak about himself.

"And what does the King in the North want from us?"

"A deal. Though I am not the first one who comes to you for that, right?" He wasn't, he knew it from Sam.

"The other one was sent by the King of the Seven Kingdoms." His voice made it clear what he thought about that.

"He rules over a foothold."

"Together we will conquer the rest. At least, that's what Lord Whatever promised."

' _And they would start with us._ '

"What does Mance say?"

Tormund sighed, his face hardened. "Mance says nothing anymore. He is dead."

The news surprised Jon and saddened him, more than he expected. "People in Castle Black believe he is just injured."

"Oh, he is injured… yes. Injured, then his wound infected. He is breathing and his heart is beating. Barely. But the rest of him… _Mance_ is no more." Grimly, Tormund shook his head. "Although if he were here, he would be amused. Till now, all of you tried your best to keep us beyond the Wall. We were the ones you had to fight against. Then two kings say the same: come to the south and we will fight with you against the Others."

"Not the same," Jon opposed.

Something flashed in Tormund's eyes. "And why not?"

"Lord Stannis doesn't understand the North."

"You and your king do?"

"Better than him." Jon was looking for words to be able to explain the difference. "Stannis would fight against the Others, yes, but that's just a step towards taking the iron throne. He wants to save Westeros just for ruling it."

"Iron throne," Tormund growled. "You want it so badly, you southerners. Perhaps I should see it for myself once."

Jon smiled. "If you do, I will support you."

"Doesn't your king want that chair?"

"No. Robb never has. He marched to the south to rescue our father, or – when it was too late – to avenge him."

"And did he do it?"

Jon shrugged. "Not in the way he would have liked. But he took two kingdoms from his enemies."

Tormund burst into laughter. "I say that's not so bad! From a boy… And now he says that we can have a place in those two kingdoms."

"Yes."

"Hm." Tormund stared at the fire. The core of black logs was glowing and beamed time to time. "If we kneel…"

"Before someone, you have to. If you want to live in the south from the Wall, you have to do it by the southern laws."

"And if I have to kneel, why would I kneel before your king instead the other one?"

"Robb doesn't ask you to fight by his side in exchange."

"Maybe we would rather fight for the land than having someone give it to us."

"The North is as much yours as ours. Why should you fight for it?"

"Over the past centuries you southerners didn't think that way."

"But I do," Jon pointed out. "Our ancestors didn't have to face the Others and their creatures for centuries. They forgot why the Wall stands here. But we know more than them, we know enough to avoid their mistakes."

"You do, perhaps. And maybe me too. But how many could we convince?"

Jon did not respond immediately. "I don't know," he said finally. "Enough, I hope."

Tormund nodded. "Well… I heard your words. How about acts? When does this king of yours allow us to go to the south?"

"When he defeats Stannis."

Tormund smiled at him. "And if he won't defeat him?"

Jon wanted to reply: ' _But he will._ ' Because he believed so. Tormund, however, did not have any reason to believe in Robb – or in Jon.

"One more king remains then, whom you can make a deal with."

* * *

The sky was clear in all directions right to the edges of the horizon, and the land was blindingly white because of the freshly fallen snow, north and south from the Wall alike. Aloft, far away where birds flew, the Wall must have seemed as small and distant as Castle Black seemed to Catelyn on one side and the forest on the other.

Nonetheless, it created a very real border – at least, it made people believe that everything that was beyond the Wall was something different, something strange.

She heard noise of steps, crunching of boots in the icy snow. She did not turn around, only casted a sidelong glance at the person approaching.

It was a slight man, with a beard and grizzled, brown hair. Stannis Baratheon named him his Hand and therefore called him Lord Davos, but Catelyn said Ser – and the Onion Knight was content with that.

Catelyn did not wish for company, but now that she had, Ser Davos was one of the few men whose presence she did not mind.

"He hasn't returned yet."

She did not spend so much time on the top of the Wall because she was waiting for Jon's arrival. It did not bother her though that people thought so. She felt odd among Stannis' soldiers and the brothers of the Night's Watch. She did not even have any role, so every moment seemed like a waste of time. She did what she came for. She talked to Stannis Baratheon on several occasions – sometimes for a long time, other times no more than a few words, sometimes heatedly, other times composedly, but each of her attempts was as fruitless as the previous ones.

"Do you bring a message to me, Ser Davos?"

"My own words only."

That was what she expected, but the answer still reassured her. Stannis called Ser Davos Seaworth his Hand, but he did not allow him to really help him, at least not in politics.

"Lady Stark, you seem like a clever woman…"

"And you seem like a clever man, Ser Davos. Why do you serve Lord Stannis?"

"I hope I am not too conceited to say this… but I believe you already know the tale of my life." He glanced at Catelyn, expectantly, and she nodded. "In this case, I won't tire you with it. Stannis Baratheon was strict with me but fair and generous in his way. I realized he was a kind of man who deserved that I follow and serve him faithfully in my whole life. And at the end of it I would not have any shame of my service. When he inherited the throne after his brother's death, I thought that it was a good thing, because a king like him could be only beneficial to Westeros."

"I have no doubt that _once_ he _was_ a honorable and right-minded man," Catelyn replied. "But whom I met under Storm's End and here, in Castle Black was neither capable, nor worthy to be a ruler.

"Tommen is?"

The mention of Tommen surprised her. She thought Ser Davos would bring up Robb. "Who could say that? Tommen is just a little boy."

"A little boy born from incest. A little boy controlled by Cersei and Lord Tywin."

"Why are we talking about Tommen, Ser Davos?" Catelyn asked edgily. "Lord Stannis is encamping not in the Crownlands but in the North."

Ser Davos kept his ground. "Your son refuses him as king. But he doesn't want the iron throne for himself either. Does it mean that he supports Tommen?"

Accepting him, at most. However, he did not say that aloud – at least, not in her presence. Anyhow, it was not Ser Davos' business.

"Tommen is far away. Those who control him, as well. But Stannis came here to the North and he said a long time ago that a king had only subjects and enemies. We won't be his subjects, so we don't have another choice."

"Lord Eddard thought he was the rightful heir to the throne."

"My lord husband couldn't have known what we know." Her voice hardened. "I won't give the North that Ned loved so much to Stannis' hands for him to destroy it."

"Do you believe he would do that?"

"Do you believe he wouldn't?" Catelyn turned to him. "You know the red woman, Ser Davos, better than me. Wouldn't she send everyone who denied her god to the flames? Wouldn't she kill them with shadows? Wouldn't she burn down our godswoods?"

Ser Davos lowered his head. "She would." Short words. Heavy and dark words.

"And would Stannis forbid it?"

Ser Davos, as an honorable man, could not have said ' _yes_ ', but he did not want to agree either.

"We don't have a big enough army to march to the south and defeat the Lannisters and Tyrells, but here, in the North we will defeat him."

"Maybe."

"Certainly."

Ser Davos did not respond just bowed. It was not a sign of agreement but acceptance. For a while, he watched the world beyond the Wall in silence.

"No matter what happens… Gods bless you, Lady Stark!"

"I hope, we meet again," Catelyn replied sincerely.

* * *

When the song's last chords faded, Alys Karstark looked up from her broidery.

"You play really nicely, Your Grace."

She said the title as if she were tasting it. But at least she said it.

Robb was worried what she was going to think about his marriage plan. Worried whether she would take it as an insult. The girl, however, only asked one question after she had heard the idea: ' _When?_ '

And now, she decorated the hemline of a black velvet cloak with white suns.

"It is very kind of you." Roslin laid her hands in her lap but she did not get up from her place by the harp yet. She knew she was a skilled musician. Still, she wondered if one more song were to wear her companions' patience thin. Arya's patience, for example.

There were four women in the chamber and all of them felt uneasy.

Brienne of Tarth stood by the wall in leather armor with a sword on her side – though Roslin asked her to join them – and apparently did not understand why she had to guard three young ladies, here, in the depth of the castle. Even if one of them was Alys Karstark.

Alys – who, in the immensely honorable Brienne's eyes, was not dangerous since she had sworn loyalty to Robb – looked like the strings of Roslin's harp: stretched almost to the breaking point even in her seemingly composed moments. The tiniest action would have made her snap. Though she was safe in Winterfell – and she did know that –, it seemed like she was still running. The fear might not even leave her until she could lay that cloak on her shoulders to stand before her gods. Roslin, at least, was sure about this.

Arya could not wait to replace her needle for the only one she took in her hand willingly and with pleasure. But she had a strict routine for the day and sword-play would only come on the afternoon.

Actually, Roslin had started to play because as long as the music lasted, she could pretend that she was alone without any expectation to talk. Truth to be told, she rarely played on her harp in front of an audience. In the Twins there were a few of her kins who appreciated the music. Her lord father, for example, was not one of them. Her brothers liked indecent songs, and her sisters those ones they could dance to.

And here, in Winterfell… She did not know Lady Alys' taste. Arya, however, had declared the first time that _Sansa_ was the one who liked the music of harp. Roslin had learned very quickly that what Sansa liked Arya didn't, if not for anything else, then simply for that. Except for lemon cakes.

As for her, she found music comforting and exhilarating at the same time. But now that it ended, awkward silence fell on them.

Before Roslin could have found something to chat about, Robb rushed into the chamber.

* * *

Hearing the sound of harp from the chamber, Robb was sure that he would find Roslin alone or at most in Brienne's company. So when stepping through the door, he was faced with four curious women's eyes, he got rattled for a moment. Of course, Roslin noticed and was greatly amused by it.

"Is there something wrong?" Arya asked him.

Robb cleared his throat. "I wouldn't say wrong. But it is not too good either. We have a guest."

Roslin knew whom he was referring to and her expression looked like a perfect mirror of Robb's.

Shipping was full of risks since autumn arrived, and in the mainland snowbound roads made travelling more difficult. Despite all of that, it was time for Jaime Lannister and his guards to reach Winterfell.

"The Kingslayer," Robb added, so the others could understand what he meant. "The Kingslayer is here."

Lady Alys put her broidery aside and stood up drawing herself up to her full height. "I want to meet him."

Robb nodded. He expected as much. "So do I."

He glanced at his wife who signaled ' _no_ ' with her head.

Everything that Robb knew or presumed about Lady Brienne's emotions was reflected on the knight's face. But she did not say a word.

Arya either, however, when Robb and Alys left the chamber, she followed them.

Lannister was taken to the dungeon, beneath the castle. There were not elegant quarters but after his attempt to escape in Riverrun, he could have got used to not getting one fit to his high-born rank. This time at least he could not complain about the cold. The hot springs saved these corridors from the freezing weather.

"What an honor," Lannister whooped when he saw his visitors. He was in better shape than the last time Robb met him in the Twins, and in a much better mood, nearly too good. "The King in the North himself in the flesh. Did you come to welcome me in Winterfell? Then let me welcome you as well in my modest home."

Truth to be told, Robb was not interested in his welfare. What did interest him was whether he would see the Kingslayer in a different light after Lady Brienne's stories – and the stories themselves would become more believable now that Lannister stood in front of him.

The man helped him to decide the question. "Did you already lose your interest in your wife?" he asked. "Because this one," he stabbed at Lady Alys with his chin, "is too northerner and too pretty to be the Old Walder's daughter."

"She is Lady Alys Karstark," Robb introduced the girl to him. "My queen wasn't curious about you."

"Ah." The Kingslayer was still speaking to him but meanwhile he turned to Alys, smiling. "So she thought that after her father's murderer, she wanted to see her brother's too?"

The girl did not reply. Slowly, she looked Lannister up and down. Robb envied her for her stone-cold face. The man's smile disappeared.

"That was enough," Lady Alys said.

She turned on her heels and she was about to leave when Arya asked Robb, eagerly: "Are we going to execute him?"

"We can't." He would have said ' _yes_ ' though, just to see Lannister's reaction. The man did everything to conceal how much his future concerned him. But he was too blatant, too testy to fool Robb. He did not want the Kingslayer to feel satisfied, so he added: "But we can bargain on him."

* * *

Evening had fallen hours ago and Catelyn returned to her own chamber from Samwell Tarly's. The boy braced himself up to ask her to take Gilly and her baby to Winterfell. Apparently, he was loath to part ways with the girl but he did the right thing: the Wall was not a good place for women and little children. Moreover, Catelyn thought, young Samwell had taken an oath to give up both of those things.

They would easily find work for Gilly in Winterfell. And later a husband, perhaps, if the girl wished for one. And the child… well, time would tell what he could become.

She barely opened her chamber's door but she would have rather slammed it back. However, she composed herself and stepped in. Shutting the door, she tried not to think that she just locked herself in a trap.

Lady Melisandre was waiting for her; red witch in the red light of flames. Her presence proved to be as disturbing as if she had sent one of her monsters.

Catelyn was unable to brush aside the suspicion that the woman came to her because – thanks to gossiping mouths or the flames – she knew about her conversation with Ser Davos.

"Did you come all this way to persuade me?"

Lady Melisandre smiled delicately. Men started wars for a smile like that. "I am afraid your contumacy is beyond my power, Lady Stark. In that, you are similar to my King."

"Your power," Catelyn repeated while, against her better judgment, she sat down across from the witch. "Every man in the North knows what kind of power you have. And if one night a shadow appears in Winterfell…"

Nothing, they could do nothing, she knew that, but it was unnecessary to finish the sentence because Lady Melisandre interrupted her, shaking her head: "If the Lord of Light had wanted him dead, the King in the North would have died long ago."

The title did not go unnoticed by Catelyn. The red priestess stubbornly insisted that she was serving the one true ruler of Westeros. But her opinion seemed more flexible – at least, if Stannis was not present.

"According to your King, he will soon." ' _And I believed you were ready to help him in that._ ' "Does he know that his god doesn't agree with him?" ' _Did you dare to tell him?_ '

"The ultimate purpose is constant but the way leading to it could change," Melisandre replied evasively. "It is human weakness that we can't admit that. A weakness which not even the greatest are exempt from."

"That's why you have to let him go to war. Even if it goes against your god's will."

"I can't know if that is really the truth."

"Do you know how it ends?"

"The king is asking me the same thing over and over again." For the first time, Lady Melisandre seemed worried and a bit uncertain. She turned from Catelyn and stared at the flames. Catelyn, unwillingly, followed her gaze. "And I have no answer for him. He is interested in tomorrow and days after, in the marching through the snow and the battle waiting at the end of the road. But what my Lord shows me is… different. I don't understand and the king wouldn't want to hear." She sighed softly. "I saw wolves in the flames. Only wolves. A grey one with blazing eyes and recently… another too, white as snow with eyes like blood."

Catelyn tore her glance away from the fire. Now, the priestess was looking at her. She tried to read from Catelyn's face like she read from the flames.

In a hurry, Catelyn stood up so Lady Melisandre had to do the same.

"It is getting late, my lady, and I am tired. Please tell Lord Stannis that as soon as the prince returns, we are going to leave. If he doesn't change his mind, we will see each other again on the battlefield."

* * *

Jon was calling Ghost. Or, at least, he hoped that what he was doing would somehow lead the direwolf to him. He thought of Ghost as strongly as he could and messaged ' _Come, find me!_ ' Last night in the wildlings' camp, he saw light of fires through Ghost's eyes. He was startled out of his sleep, and – if so happened – he went out to look around beyond the tents. He tumbled in the snow for hours in vain.

Maybe Ghost was not even near but he was lurking around another camp, miles away from there. Or – as Tormund said when Jon asked him about the direwolf – he was afraid of the other skinchangers, so he stayed in a safe distance.

Jon could not tell how much time passed between the dream and his awakening. It seemed like a moment to him but it could have been much more.

And now, he ran out of time. The Wall stood in front of them, high and dark grey beneath the swirling thunderclouds. If Ghost was not nearby, if he did not catch up to them in an hour, the chance for Jon to find him might be lost forever.

If there ever was a chance.

* * *

Catelyn was eager to leave Castle Black. She wanted to see Robb and make sure – independently of the mercy of Lady Melisandre's god – that he was healthy and unharmed. She wanted to see Arya turning round and round on the courtyard in the snowfall with a sword in her hand. She wanted to meet Roslin, to find out how she was adjusting as her son's wife. And, above all, she wanted to know as many miles between herself and the flaming – and changing – heart of R'hllor as possible.

By choice, she would have mounted in the very moment the horn blew singing Jon's return. But before a weeks-long journey – especially in the North and when winter was coming – they needed preparations and some rest. So they had to wait, at least for tomorrow morning.

Besides, Jon would have liked to speak with Maester Aemon, and Catelyn understood that he could not have let that opportunity pass, because who knew whether there would be another. She hoped a talk with the old man would lift his spirits a little, too.

Jon, right after his arrival, told them about what he had done in the wildlings' camp, then, he allowed the Watch's rage to pour on him. He was in a bad mood already anyway, and he did not have to say why. He had hoped that beyond the Wall he could find Ghost, or rather Ghost would find him. But the direwolf was not with him when he stepped out of the tunnel beneath Wall.

After lunch, when Jon was on his way to Maester Aemon, Clydas arrived with a wolf sigiled letter in his hand.

He gave it to Jon, then, left the chamber immediately. Jon waited for Catelyn's approval nod before he broke up the letter's seal and started reading the message.

He read it too long. He did not look upset – at least not more than he was before – but Catelyn was alarmed.

"What is it, Jon?"

At her voice, the boy looked up. "I'm going to get married," he replied simply.

"What?!"

Jon himself seemed a bit astonished. He handed the letter to her. She skimmed through it without really comprehending its content. She was looking for the sentence that grabbed Jon's attention, and she found it at the bottom of the parchment. Robb in fact wrote that: ' _I would like you to take into consideration to wed Lady Alys Karstark._ '

Though, he obviously was sure what Jon's decision would be. Catelyn thought it over and realized she was not surprised either.

"You can refuse," she noted.

Jon's voice was light and as emotionless as his face. "On what grounds?"

He could not have any reason for it. At least, nothing that someone in his position was allowed to have.

"Besides, Robb needs the loyalty of Karhold."

And the power of Karhold, of course. Like he needed the Freys of the Crossing. Like Ned needed Riverrun in the times of the Rebellion. And the lords and ladies had to do their duty.

"You have met her," she spoke up suddenly. "Alys Karstark."

"I don't remember."

"No… of course." She did not understand why she brought it up. "It happened a long time ago."

Lord Rickard would have liked to betroth her daughter with Robb. He did not say a word about it, but his intentions were clear. That night, sitting together by the high table and watching with a smile on their faces how Robb was dancing with Alys, Lord Rickard saw the future Lord and Lady of Winterfell. However, Ned – though he was not against the idea – saw two awkward children who tried to behave like solemn grownups. So in the end, the arrangement was not made, either then, or after.

But Lady Alys was dancing with someone else, too. Ned watched them as he had watched his trueborn son before, Lord Rickard and Catelyn were talking. The Lord of Karhold was not interested in a bastard boy, and Catelyn tried to pretend that he did not even exist.

And they were here now. Rickard Karstark chose Robb to be his king, then, he died by his hand. And his daughter was going to marry Jon. Who would have thought back then that it would come to this?

* * *

Jon did not know where to start. In the last few days beyond the Wall, he had thought up a hundred of versions and he had thrown away all of them. So now, sitting in Maester Aemon's chamber, he was unable to say a single word.

"What are you concerned about, Jon?"

"It isn't a concern, it is…"

Fear. He was afraid how the news he was about to tell would affect such an old and anguished man.

Aemon did not push him.

"I learned something not long ago."

How many days passed since then? Three or four? It felt like an eternity.

"I learned my mother's name." ' _And my father's. And my own._ '

"Is that a good kind of knowledge?" the Maester asked him.

"Yes. I think, it is. Though it is painful." ' _And frightening._ '

Aemon did not say anything but he nodded as encouragement, signing that Jon could continue if he liked.

"My mother died on the day I was born. In the mountains of Dorne." He was speaking slowly, watching the Maester.

Aemon's expression changed. He slid forward in his chair, his toothless mouth forming mute words.

"She died like my father and my brother and sister before her." Jon took a deep breath and said aloud for the first time: "My mother's name was Lyanna Stark. My father's Rhaegar Targaryen."

Aemon drew the air in with a sharp, whistling sound, and suddenly he reached out for Jon but he grabbed nothing. They were sitting too far away from each other.

So Jon knelt before him, caught his hand and held it strong in his own but with less force than Aemon held his.

For now, there was not anything else he could say.

"Is it true?" Aemon gasped. He was crying, softly whimpering. Tears were running down on his elderly, wrinkled face. "Could it be true?"

He did not doubt Jon, but he wanted to hear it.

"It is true," Jon replied.

In that moment Aemon's other hand moved forward, too. Tremblingly, he smoothed Jon's forehead, mapping his features inch by inch.

* * *

Jon still sat on the floor beside Aemon's chair. His uncle did not let go of his hand and Jon did not try to draw back.

He could not have understood how the old man felt. Jon found a family in him that he had not even known about. Aemon found the family in him that he had lost and mourned for all of these years.

"Come to Winterfell with us!"

Aemon laughed hoarsely. "So there it is. My fourth test."

And Jon realized what he would say. "You will stay here."

"I will stay here."

"But…"

"When duty confronted duty and the realm called for me, I chose to come here," Aemon explained gently. "Do you believe I would break my oath and leave now for my own sake?"

"And for your life? That priestess of Stannis… people say…"

"The power in my blood is hardly enough to keep me alive. How could it give life to stones?"

Jon was not so sure that the red priestess thought the same.

"I told you months ago," Aemon continued, "you can serve the Watch without serving on the Wall. But I can do the little I still can only here. You can't take that away from me, Jon. Jon? Is that your real name? Lord Stark named you that, right?"

"After Jon Arryn. Like he named Robb after Robert." His real name could have been one of the last words his mother said. It was a strange thought. A strange feeling. "My parents wanted me to get your name. Or the dragon Knight's. I don't know."

"An Aemon to the Aegon." Aemon toothless smile widened for a moment then disappeared.

Jon knew what came to his mind.

"But only I remained."

"Only we remained." Aemon nodded. "And one more. Somewhere, far away…"

Daenerys Targaryen, the Mad King's daughter who had never stepped on the lands of Westeros. She was Jon's aunt, but he did not even think of her until now. The silver haired princess who became a Khaleesi of the Dothraki riders and ravaged cities in Slaver's Bay… here, at the Wall, she was nothing more than a fascinating tale of the East.

"I didn't know your mother and I barely knew your father, "Aemon said. "But what I do know… what I do know I could tell you if you'd like."

* * *

Hours passed before Jon left Aemon's chamber. It was getting late. Though he did not feel tired, he knew he had to sleep. But before he could have reached the steps leading to the courtyard, Ser Alliser appeared from the dark.

"We should have hanged you, Lord Snow," he declared by a way of greeting.

"Would you like to try now, Ser?" Jon made sure that his voice remained calm and the man could not take his question as a challenge. He thought that he did not have to be afraid of Thorne – not here and now – but it was better to be careful. Imperceptibly, he positioned himself so that he could ward off an attack.

Thorne stared at him, snarling, but he did not move. His hands, however, were covered by his cloak. He could have grabbed a dagger or a sword.

"Letting the wildlings through the Wall? I am sure northerners wouldn't come up with such a thing without you."

"No, I don't think so either," Jon admitted. He himself would not have thought of such thing if his fate hadn't led him to the wildlings. If he hadn't seen the human in the enemy.

"Did you go mad, boy?" Ser Alliser flung high with his hand – his sword hand – from the covers of his cloak. It was empty. "Your brother made you a Lord of the North and you show your gratitude with destroying his kingdom."

"The Others will destroy his kingdom and the wildlings will march on the head of their horde if we don't let them through."

Disdainfully, Ser Alliser snorted. "They don't need blue eyes and black hands for that. They want to kill us anyway."

"They want to kill us because we are in the way of their survival. At least, a part of them would kill us because of that."

Ha went through this argument hundreds of times.

With Denys Mallister who tried tenaciously to stay respectful and courteous towards the brother of the King in the North – and not to snap at a sixteen year old boy who had been a brother of the Night's Watch a short time ago.

With Cotter Pyke who inveighed him, long and vehemently, then calming down a little he said that he appreciated that unlike Stannis, Jon, at least, allowed him to do it. Even if he was a stubborn, foolish mule.

With Othell Yarwick who declared, point blank that he was not going to share the Wall, _his Wall_ , with the rabble of wildlings.

With Bowen Marsh who almost begged him to change his mind – together with his king.

With countless brothers who mentioned him the names of Lord Mormont, Donal Noye, Qhorin Halfhand and – above all – Benjen Stark.

Jon answered the same to all of them. The same he had told Robb. And those who had been in the Fist of the First Men – reluctantly accepted the truth of his words.

In fact, Ser Alliser should have accepted it. After all, he undoubtedly remembered Othor and Jafer Flowers.

"You do know what they will turn into if they stuck beyond the Wall. And what will you do then, Ser Alliser? Killing all hundred thousand of them?"

It was obvious – from his gaze – that he would try it, at any rate. However, beyond his hatred towards the wildlings and Jon, he was a soldier.

"A lot of them are old and women and children, but those on the other side are still an army. Who should have it? The living or the dead?"

"If they came here, we'll be also dead soon enough," Ser Alliser growled. He sniffed harshly and stepping closer to Jon he looked into his eyes. "You better be right, bastard! Otherwise if I can't kill hundred thousands of wildlings, I will kill one for sure. And that one will be you."

Jon nodded. "I accept that."

Ser Alliser spat out. He turned his back on Jon but as he was leaving, he said over his shoulder:

"By the way, I came to tell you that your beast is waiting for you beyond the gate. Bless your gods that the man who kept watch had good enough eyes to recognize him. Someone else might have shot him. And bless your gods it wasn't me on watch. My eyes are good enough, but I might have shot him anyway."

* * *

 **Next time: King's Landing**


End file.
